


Let go when you give it

by unsungyellowraincoat



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dogs, Falling In Love, Family Issues, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Illness, Mild Sexual Content, Summer times, sadness and fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2018-11-19 18:47:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11319417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsungyellowraincoat/pseuds/unsungyellowraincoat
Summary: Isak is a tired biology student who has no time for love, he barely manages to take care of himself. Until two small dogs and a tall handsome stranger change all of that.Or Isak and Even meet at a dog park.





	1. Lykke til Isak

**Author's Note:**

> In this verse Isak is around 20 years old, out of the closet and living his life but has some trust issues and carries around guilt because of his family background. The subject of mental illness will be touched upon, but nothing bad is going to happen and I'll keep the angst to a minimum because I am a baby.
> 
> The title comes from Hold On When You Get Love and Let Go When You Give It by Stars.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at [isaksbestpillow](https://isaksbestpillow.tumblr.com/) ♡

> _Take the weakest thing in you_  
>  _And then beat the bastards with it_  
>  _And always hold on when you get love_  
>  _So you can let go when you give it_
> 
> \- Stars

 

Isak is fucked.

He really should have thought this over.

”Don’t stress it too much, you’ll do fine,” Eva tosses a third pair of bikini bottoms over her shoulder, victoriously clenching her fist as they land perfectly into the open suitcase at the other end of the room.

“She won’t, like, tug at your sleeve and ask you to explain why the sky is blue. She’s a dog. All she needs is a little bit of love. How hard could it be, huh?” she pops her head out of the wardrobe to flash an encouraging smile in Isak’s direction, strands of hair sticking out of her loose bun.

And that’s the root of the problem.

It would be a lot easier if this wet nose sniffing his socks needed him to explain why the sky is blue. Molecules in the air scatter blue light from the sun more than they scatter red light because it travels as shorter waves – it makes _sense_.

Love, on the other hand.

Isak has been a little short of it lately. When Jarle broke up with him back in February, he was relieved, as if his professor had cancelled the exam he didn’t bother to study for. It meant one less thing to worry about. Not that he was ever in love with Jarle, or the other way around. Kissing each other was just something they did to pass the time.

Isak doesn’t have a lot of love to give, he’s just killing time.

Which is why he’s totally not the right guy for this job.

He’s not good at caring for others – he barely manages to care for himself. Barely manages to take his Grandiosa out of the oven before the crust starts to resemble a frisbee made of charcoal, barely manages to squint his eyes to read his messy handwriting in the margins of his cell biology text book. Just last week he knocked over Eskild’s ZZ plant when trying to swat a mosquito buzzing behind the window blinds. How the fuck is he supposed to take care of this sniffing, licking, tail-wagging creature when he can’t even keep a still object from breaking?

He really should have thought this over.

When Eva’s summer internship at the reception of a hotel in Bali was confirmed, Isak had grabbed her by the waist and spun her around like a giggling helicopter until they had both tumbled on the floor laughing, letting Eva’s cairn terrier lick all over their faces with its warm tongue.

That was before Sana moved into a non-pet friendly apartment near the university hospital, Chris got a summer job in Legoland, Vilde broke her ankle in that goddamn pole dancing class, and Isak suddenly found himself throwing away expired flour to clear space for bones and chews in his cupboard.

 _Someone_ had to look after the dog while Eva is looking after drunk Norwegians in Bali. Isak didn’t want to be that someone, had no confidence he could pull of being that someone, but he hadn’t really been given much of a choice. Not when Eskild would flip his invisible yet _surprisingly_ convincing golden locks and mutter under his breath about the apartment having sheltered stray kittens before and how appalled and heartbroken he is to have discovered he is sharing his living space with Cruella de Vil every time Isak dared to step his foot into the kitchen.

“You’re a real lifesaver. I’ll make this up to you, I promise,” Eva makes eye contact with the reflection of Isak’s frowning face in her mirror, brows furrowing and index finger absently tapping her chin as she contemplates between several pairs of shorts.

“I’ll set you up with this guy Vilde knows, Luca something. Hazel eyes, deep voice, half-Italian. Plays the drums, is active in student politics. Rumor has it he only needs three thrusts to make you forget your name – I’m serious, don’t give me that look. Hottest guy you’ll ever meet, the total package.”

Isak rolls his eyes at her in the mirror and chuckles when Eva’s reflection sticks her tongue out at him.

“Don’t think I don’t know your type,” Eva slings a bra at Isak, pouting when Isak catches it mid-air.

“Come on, we were in love with the same guy once, you can trust my judgement.”

“I trust you, all right,” Isak wiggles his toes at the dog.

Maybe he’ll be in the mood for a casual fuck at the end of summer, no strings attached. A casual fuck in exchange for over two months of constant stress is not much, but at least it’s something to look forward to. It’s a release, a perfectly good distraction.

“Good. Just don’t go around falling in love before I’m back or you can’t collect your prize,” Eva shakes her finger in mock seriousness.

“Wouldn’t even dream of it,” Isak winks, throwing the bra back at her.

“You should take those orange shorts, by the way. Jonas thinks the last time you wore them some girls were totally checking out your ass,” he adds, then plops down on his back onto Eva’s bed, his forearm coming to rest limply on his forehead.

Yeah, he wouldn’t even dream of it.

*

It’s been twenty-eight hours and forty minutes since Isak became the custodian of a 2-year-old cairn terrier with the energy of a, well, _2-year-old cairn terrier_.

Twenty-eight hours and forty minutes ago they still had coupons to McDonalds, a hand-made Mexican cushion, and Mahdi’s leather belt. That was twenty-eight hours and forty minutes ago.

It’s not cracking up to be a success story, Isak thinks as he picks up the spilled water bowl and squats to wipe off the glistening puddle. He’d left the dog to her own devices for less than an hour to go pick up some books in the student library and grab some kebab on the way home, yet the apartment is already a mess.

“My Ray Bans, chewed and spat out like Mariah after Glitter,” Eskild wails dramatically, clutching at his chest with one hand, the other one thrusting a pair of sunglasses in Isak’s face. The left lens is detached and the right temple crooked, the frame peppered with marks of small teeth like play dough.

Isak narrows his eyes and wipes off the beads of sweat pooling on his forehead with the back of his hand.

“You bought those at H&M,” he grunts through gritted teeth, crouching on the floor on all fours and scrubbing the floor frantically.

Eskild claps his hands, the remaining lens cracking and falling to the floor with a sharp cling as he does.

“Friends and enemies, may I have your attention, the boy whose heart didn’t dare to dream is speaking.”

Isak’s hand stills and he swallows audibly, head hanging low. His chest feels tight as if wrapped in spider webs.

“Is it always going to be this shit? What’s the fucking point?” he spits, fingers tightening around the wet towel until his knuckles turn white and drops of water begin to dripple to the floor.

Eskild hums and settles himself cross-legged next to Isak, clears his throat and places a firm hand on Isak’s shoulder.

 “ _Of course_ it’s always going to be shit. What’s shit today is going to be shit tomorrow and always and forever – the weather, sex, luck, you name it. Shit today? Shit tomorrow. Isn’t that life’s rule of thumb, hmm?” he says, pressing his thumb to the corner of Isak’s mouth and pulling it up so that Isak’s mouth is twisted into an awkward lopsided grimace.

Fucking Eskild, never lets a boy feel sorry for himself in peace.

“That’s more like the kitten I know,” Eskild giggles as Isak knocks away his hand and the tacky sunglasses that are about to poke him in the eye.

“Now here’s what we’re going to do, Cruella. You’re going to take your 101 dalmatians to a nice dog park to enjoy the nice weather outside, while I stay here and clean up this mess, okay? You’re familiar with a nice dog park nearby, right? – Good. So that’s what we’re going to do. And you know what we’re going to do after that? We’ll borrow my grandmother’s VHS player – you know my grandmother, quite hard to scrub off of your cheek that lipstick of hers isn’t it, we’re going to borrow her VHS player and watch every single Beethoven movie out there and let ourselves be inspired, the four of us, me and Linn and the hairy one – that’s not you, obviously, is that all natural or do you manscape? I’ve always wondered – we’ll let ourselves be inspired, by that genius dog and the bottle of Chardonnay I have in the fridge. How does that sound?”

“Okay,” Isak whispers and runs a hand through his hair. Then he gets up, stretches his limbs and looks around, grabs the leash and a waste bag which he slips into his pocket before he picks up the dog to put on her collar, turning up his nose as he feels a warm sticky lick at the tip of it.

“And one more thing, Isak.”

Isak freezes in the doorway, the dog whining in excitement and scratching at the door with her little paws.

“You know that sometimes apples do fall far from the tree.”

Isak nods and heads out the door.

*

As it happens, Isak does know of a nice dog park in the neighborhood.

He’s been here a fair number of times before, although not recently. Not after that day in February when Jarle had broken up with him via text, said he’s _not feeling it_ , not feeling _anything_ because Isak is not letting him.

Isak had come here with Eva that day, watched puppies and old dogs and parents and children and lovers and strangers play in the snow as one, slipped on ice and split his pants when falling to the ground. Not his proudest moment, he thinks and takes out his phone to check the time, noticing one unread message in his group chat.

 

 

> MAGNUS: When can we see her? ❤ ❤ ❤  
>    
>  ISAK: Who?  
>    
>  MAGNUS: YOUR DOG  
>    
>  ISAK: She’s not my dog. she’s Eva’s dog and you’ve seen her a billion times  
>    
>  ISAK: Nothing’s changed  
>    
>  MAGNUS: You’re hurting me ☹  
>    
>  JONAS: How’s it going?  
>    
>  ISAK: It’s going  
>    
>  ISAK: She chewed on Mahdi’s belt. You’d left it on the sofa.  
>    
>  ISAK: I don’t think you can wear it anymore, looks pretty bad sorry ☹  
>    
>  MAHDI: chill bro, my own fault for leaving it there  
>    
>  JONAS: could come over later?  
>    
>  ISAK: I’m at the dog park  
>    
>  ISAK: letting off some steam  
>    
>  MAGNUS: are you HAVIGN HOT GAY SEX  
>    
>  MAGNUS: BEHIND THE BUSHES  
>    
>  MAHDI: jeez  
>    
>  MAGNUS: I heard if u’re gay you can do that  
>    
>  MAGNUS: living the dream my man ❤  
>    
>  ISAK: im not cruising for gay sex in a dog park ffs  
>    
>  ISAK: have apps for that  
>    
>  ISAK: besides  
>    
>  ISAK: in what fucking world do you think I’d wanna text you while I’m having sex  
>    
>  JONAS: ayyyy  
>    
>  MAHDI: burn  
>    
>  MAGNUS: in an ideal world  ❤  
>    
>  JONAS: all right dudes that’s my cue time to exit this conversation  
>    
>  JONAS: swinging by later  
>    
>  MAHDI: don’t worry about the belt, was pretty douchey anyway

 

“Cute dog,” says a deep, unfamiliar voice.

Startled, Isak looks up from his phone to make sure his mind isn’t playing tricks on him. Is this what dog owners do in public spaces? Chat up complete strangers?

It must be, because Isak didn’t make this up, the deep voice does indeed belong to an actual human body – and that human body is drop dead gorgeous. Long and slender limbs, toned shoulders, plump lips, blond swoopy hair framing his piercing blue eyes just perfectly. If Isak looked like that, he too would be out here chatting up strangers just to grant them a moment in his dazzling presence.

“Thanks. She’s not mine, though,” Isak replies, not sure what else to say. He’s not well versed in the lingo of dog lovers.

“Oh. Seems to like you a lot though, don’t you think?”

“She’s – I’m taking care of her for a friend.”

“You’re doing a great job,” Drop Dead Gorgeous smiles, and for some inexplicable reason that smile is doing things to Isak.

It's is making him wish this random stranger would _stay_.

Isak knows he needs to do something to keep this conversation going. He needs to open his mouth and say something, anything, act like a person who can exist in real life and not just stare here. He's in a dog park for fuck's sake, there are no cats here to get his tongue.

“Do you – do you come here often?” he blurts, immediately cringing at his own words. What is he, some desperate geezer trying to score a date in a pub?

“I come here every day,” Drop Dead Gorgeous says, then with a wiggle of his eyebrows adds, “as long as I can get out of bed that is.”

“Cool. That you managed to get out of bed today. To come here, I mean. It’s, it’s cool.” Isak's hands wobble awkwardly as he talks, and his words keep getting slurred and coming out all wrong as if he was raised by wolves and this was his first ever attempt at human interaction.

“I think so too,” Drop Dead Gorgeous hums. “What about you?”

“Me?”

“Come here often?”

“Oh, yeah. No. Maybe.”

“Maybe I’ll see you around?”

“Uhhh, yeah, sure sure, mmmmh.”

“Sorry I didn’t catch your name.”

Isak’s mind goes blank, and before he can stop himself he hears himself say, “Lykke.”

“That’s a cute name for a cute dog,” Drop Dead Gorgeous chuckles. “But I meant _your_ name.”

“Oh, right. Yeah, of course, my name,” Isak stammers. His cheeks are on fire and he wants to die.

“Isak. Lykke, that’s the dog, that’s – the dog...” he scratches his head and looks around helplessly, not even sure what he hopes to find there. Maybe a crack in the crust of the earth that could swallow him whole.

“Even,” Drop Dead Gorgeous holds out a hand, and Isak hastily dries his palms in the hem of his shirt before clasping it, cursing himself for having scratched his sweaty back not even five minutes ago. Drop Dead Gorgeous – _Even_ – must already think Isak’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer, and now he’s about to find out how gross he is to boot. Hell, standing next to Even Isak’s not even a knife. He’s a fucking wooden spoon. Shit.

“That one over there sniffing your Lykke’s butt is Frida,” Even tilts his head to the side, but Isak’s gaze stays glued to Even’s long, slender fingers and the way they squeeze his hand, a rush of blood thudding in his ears.

“Hi,” Isak squeaks, still clasping Even’s hand like some new-age hippie fanatic meeting their spiritual leader. Even’s palm feels warm against his palm, his fingers smooth and silky, the blue veins of his wrist glowing dimly through the pale skin. Since when has Isak paid attention to strangers’ skin care routine when shaking their hand, the fuck.

“It was cool talking to you, Isak,” Even says letting go of his hand, and when Isak finally dares to lift his gaze to take one last look at his face, he notices the way the corners of his eyes crinkle when he smiles. Holy shit.

“Yeah, cool talking to you too.”

“See you around?” Even asks and whistles, causing a dachshund to start scuttling towards them.

“See you around,” Isak does his best to force his lips to form a smile not raised by wolves, and is even about to have a go at waving his hand ever so casually when his phone starts vibrating against his thigh. Watching Even’s receding back he slides a hand into his pocket to reach for his phone, the empty waste bag slipping out and getting caught in a sudden gust of wind before falling into a puddle.

INCOMING CALL: DAD

Cursing under his breath, Isak ignores the call and bends down to examine the wet waste bag, drops of water streaming along his forearm. Out in the distance Even's shrinking figure turns around and waves his hand one last time. Somewhere in his belly a butterfly breaks free.

Isak is most definitely fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that was it, the very first chapter! Thank you for reading this far! I hope to be able to update this fic once a week. In the meantime feel free to come and talk to me about Skam or fic or cute dogs. This is my first longer fic and my first au and English is not my native language so please don't be too harsh on me. :(


	2. Pretty good jay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thank you so much for all the nice comments and encouragement I've gotten since last week, I appreciate you all so much. I can't believe some of you have actually subscribed to my little fic. Thank you! I'm so sorry for the delay, I wanted to bring this chapter to you as quickly as possible but I was not in a good place emotionally this past week so I couldn't write a single word. I also added some tags, and this fic may end up being 8-9 chapters long in total instead of 7 like I had originally planned.

Even Birkeland –  _He wasn’t a redhead._

Even Evensen –  _Funny parents huh._

Even Hillestad – _That looks painful._

…

Even Wahl –  _Is that a fanny pack?_

  
SHOWING ALL RESULTS FOR “EVEN”

 

Isak is not looking up Even on Facebook — or maybe he is looking up Even on Facebook a little bit, but the point is, he is not doing it  _actively._  He is actively researching intragenomic conflict and declining Vilde’s Candy Crush requests that have at least doubled after her dirty dancing disaster — Isak is wishing her a swift recovery for his own sanity.

Isak is not looking up Even on Facebook, and he is absolutely most definitely not pining. He did enough of that in high school, wasted his youthful looks on having wet dreams about his straight best friend. At twenty years old, the word is no longer in his vocabulary. He doesn’t pine for guys who’ve had their mouth on his dick, let alone for a guy who maybe shook his hand once.

With those big smooth angel hands.

Which is a completely normal thought to have — a completely normal observation to make. Doctors probably have the same thought a few times a day when shaking hands with their patients, and doctors are nothing if not professionals. Isak is keeping it strictly professional.

He is not pining, he is merely curious. He is new to this whole dog thing, after all, while Even seemed like he knows what he’s doing. Seemed like he could offer some tips. Isak has never shied away from asking for advice. That’s all.

The laptop screen has turned off when Lykke’s paws climbing up his leg distract Isak from his thoughts. He picks the dog up and places her in his lap, both arms wrapping firmly around her belly, her funny little legs coming to rest like hairy chocolate bars against his forearm. They sit like that for a moment before Lykke gets impatient, their faces reflecting off the screen.

“Don’t look at me like that, you’re a dog — I wasn’t pining.”

*

“What would you do if you wanted to find someone?” Isak asks, leaning against the kitchen counter arms folded in case it should make him appear more casual.

“Are we talking soulmate or playmate?” Eskild glances at him with a glass of something sparkling between his lips — at two in the afternoon. Isak is quite certain he was some sort of a king in a previous life.

“If you want to find someone but they aren’t on Facebook.”

“Well, I tend to take a shoe and my most loyal servants and travel from door to door looking for he to whom the shoe fits,” Eskild gesticulates with his fancy glass, a smirk growing on his face as Isak rolls his eyes and lets his arms fall to his sides in exasperation. “Tell me darling, who are we looking for?”

“Just some guy from school who has a book I need,” Isak hesitates, already regretting ever starting this conversation.

“Don’t you have a mailing list?” Eskild asks, and Isak thanks his lucky stars that in that exact moment Linn emerges from the darkness of her room with a sock in hand.

“I can’t find my other sock.”

“Where did you last see it?”

“I took it off on the sofa.”

“Did you look on the sofa? You’ll find things the same place you left them. You found it on the sofa? See. I think we all agree I was a shaman woman in a previous life.”

“Didn’t that fortune teller in Barcelona say you were either a rock or a prostitute?”

“That woman was an impostor, we’ve been through this. My sweet Linn, don’t trust the word of a random stranger you met in a park.”

*

Yes, Isak is in the exact place at the exact time he met Even three days ago. It’s for the dog, of course — Eva said she needs routine. The way his heart is drumming against his chest as his eyes scan for any sight of long-legged boys with short-legged dogs is probably due to dehydration.

Dehydration is also to blame for the way his heart skips a beat as he hears a familiar voice like dripping honey close to his ear. He really should drink more water, should take better care of himself, Eskild always nags about it.

“Hi,” says the voice like dripping honey.

“Hi,” Isak breathes out, clenching his sweaty palms.

“So we meet again,” Even wiggles his brows, which leaves Isak suspecting he may have developed a serious heart condition. He should’ve written a will, he can’t leave Eskild in charge of organizing his funeral — no way in hell he’s getting buried to the beat of Womanizer.

“Yeah,” Isak lets out a strained laugh and examines the tips of his shoes, nervously kicking at a hole in the sand. Jesus fuck what the fuck.

“Cool conversation,” Even chuckles, following Isak’s fidgeting feet with his gaze.

“Hmm,” Isak hums and glances at Even’s mouth out of the corner of his eye. Even is smiling and Isak is doomed to get buried to the beat of Womanizer.

“Are you going somewhere?” Isak asks and gestures at Even’s backpack — or at least he hopes it’s what he is saying, he can’t really hear his own words because of his recent heart condition.

“I’m in the mood for a barbeque.”

“Barbeque?”

“Barbeque,” Even nods. “Join me?”

“Huh?”

“Or do you have other plans?”

“No no no,” Isak stammers, then hastily adds, “No other plans, I mean. No plans. Just chilling.”

“Great.”

“But we don’t have a grill?”

“I’ve come prepared,” Even says covertly and does that fucking thing with his eyebrows again.

*

Even wasn’t kidding, Isak thinks as he watches Even kneeling on the grass, his long fingers opening the cardboard box of a disposable grill, his eyes twinkling with excitement.

“Shouldn’t that be placed on a nonflammable surface?” Isak asks skeptically, still standing around uselessly, not quite sure how to participate in the situation. “The grass could like, catch fire.”

“Relax, I’ve got you,” Even hums and reaches to get something from his bag — a brick.

“You brought a brick?” Isak can’t hide the surprise in his voice.

“I brought a brick,” Even says in a matter-of-fact tone reserved for talking about the weather while balancing the disposable grill on top of the brick.

“You’ve been carrying a brick around in your backpack?” Isak snorts.

“People manage to carry around all kinds of baggage, Isak,” Even says as he holds up a lighter.

“Oh,” Isak breathes, watching flames begin to dance on the charcoals.

“Do you like sausage?”

“Hmm?”

“You don’t eat sausage?”

“I do eat sausage.”

“Awesome. I brought a shit ton of it. There were so many different kinds that I couldn’t choose so I just bought all of them. C’mon, sit down,” he pats the grass beside him. “Beer? I’ve only got one but we can share. You’re over 18, right?” he smirks mischievously, his pointy canine teeth flashing in the sun.

“I turned 20 last week,” Isak settles himself cross-legged on the grass and shivers a little when his knee brushes against Even’s thigh. Even smiles and takes a gulp of their only beer before passing it to Isak, studying him with a curious look on his face as Isak brings the can to his lips. Isak feels a strange swelling in his belly as he puts his mouth on the piece of metal Even’s lips have touched just moments before.

“The big 20, that calls for a celebration,” Even hums, rummaging in his pocket for something. “You in?” he raises his eyebrows in question, holding out a joint.

“You brought a brick and a joint to a picnic?” Isak laughs, plopping his elbows on the grass. “Who are you?”  _And what are you doing to me._

“I’m Even Bech Næsheim. Happy birthday to you, Isak. Sorry I couldn’t make it to your party.”

*

Maybe it’s the jay or the sausages or the pile of dogs resting in the shade of a lilac tree, but little by little Isak's whole body relaxes as if he’d been here forever, as if Even wasn’t just some hot random stranger but someone he’d known since birth, or before birth, in another life, in another universe, in every universe — it must be the jay.

“That’s some pretty good jay," he giggles.”

“Only the best for this special occasion.”

“It’s a special occasion?”

“Is it not a special occasion?”

“Oh you don’t ask everyone you meet to join you for a barbeque?”

“Nah, just the ones I think might like my sausage,” Even grins.

Panicked by the flush creeping onto his cheeks, Isak tries to change the topic. “So, what’s the story behind her name?” he asks, scratching Frida’s belly and smiling fondly at the way she tenses her legs.

“Frida was always my favorite ABBA member in high school.”

“You had a favorite ABBA member in high school?”

“You didn’t have a favorite ABBA member in high school?”

“Hell no.”

“Are you telling me you didn’t listen to Dancing Queen when you were young and sweet, only seventeen?”

“That song’s shit.”

“Your taste is shit. But you’re still young and sweet, you’ll learn,” Even’s eyes twinkle as he playfully punches Isak’s arm just below where the sleeve of his t-shirt ends, and Isak has to stop himself from tracing the spot with his thumb.

“No, thanks.”

“So what did you do when you were seventeen if not listen to the most iconic pop song of all time?”

Isak swallows hard, feeling his muscles tense at the question _. I watched my family fall apart and my mother descend into darkness_  is not exactly the kind of story you tell to liven up the mood.

“I was dealing with some bricks,” he says, folds his arms behind his neck and lies down on his back in the grass. From this angle the world appears slanted and clouds just roll on by. There is a dull thud as Even’s body comes to lie down beside him, followed by the thumping of Isak’s heartbeat loud in his ears like a passing train.

“Is that how you got so ripped?” Even asks, a smile dangling on the corner of his lips.

“The fuck?” Isak gives a surprised laugh, grabs a handful of grass and throws it at Even’s face. He looks cute with grass sticking out of his golden hair, like an overgrown fairy.

Even shakes out his hair, then throws his head back and rakes his fingers through his disheveled hair slowly and carefully, almost as if putting on a display, and Isak's mouth waters, struck by the need to push away Even’s hand and replace it with his own, to know how it would feel like to touch him.

“So, so far we’ve established that your musical education is lacking and you have a bit of a temper.”

“We’ve established that you like shit music and you were a dancing queen in high school.”

“You’re not far off with the second one,” Even says, chewing on his bottom lip before continuing, “I was really feeling the beat from the tambourine at the time.”

*

Isak can’t remember the last time he was this full. The skin around his stomach is tight and strained like he’d just swallowed a balloon. It’s a good feeling, warm somehow, different from the bloating that follows a hamburger gobbled up alone, he thinks as he watches Even lick his fingers and stuff away their barbeque gear.

His stomach is full, yet part of him feels hollow, as though there were hole in his chest that lets out air at the same pace as Even’s backpack gets fuller. 

It's over, the day is gone, turned into a spoonful of ashes fluttering in the grass like a dying crane fly.

“Um, Even? Do you know anything about trimming dogs’ toenails?” Isak asks, desperate to make the moment last for a while longer.

“I do have a dog.”

“I was wondering, do you have any tips? I’ve never done it before.”

“Give me your phone.”

“Huh?”

“You need my number. For those tips.”

“Do you, uhh, need my number?”

“It’s a game of give and take.”

“Okay.”

“There. Let me know before you jump into any nail trimming action.”

“Thanks. And thanks for the food.”

“Don’t do any heavy brick training tonight, might upset those sausages in your stomach.”

“As long as you don’t do any dancing.”

“I’ll save it for another time. Talk to you later.”

“Later.”

If Isak lies down clutching Even’s phone number to his chest once he is gone, no one needs to know. And if a giggle escapes from his mouth at the new notification popping up on his phone screen — no one needs to know it either.

“I told you already. I’m _not_ pining.”

 

 

> from EVEN:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that was my attempt at Mekke øl, I hope it was okay. Instead of Gabrielle I made Even into a bit of a disco fan, yes. There will be more boy squad and more pining in the next chapter, hope to see you there! As always, you can find me on tumblr [here](https://isaksbestpillow.tumblr.com/).


	3. A glowing heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Magnus is totally cool with everything and Isak and Even maybe kind of go on a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! this chapter is way overdue, i'm sorry! i haven't abandoned or forgotten about this fic, quite the opposite. this chapter is a bit longer than the previous ones as the first chapter was only meant to serve as an introduction and then i was going through stuff™ while writing the second chapter so it kind of fell flat.
> 
> there is a lot of dialogue in this fic i know, i'm a bit of a dialogue person. there's a a little bit of angst in this chapter but nothing that will make you lose sleep. also a lot of references to sex but no one actually manages to do the Deed.
> 
> thank you so much for sticking with me, this fic is so so important to me and you are the most amazing for reading it.

  

 

 

> DAD: Your mother’s been asking for you.  
>    
>  ISAK: I’ve been busy  
>    
>  DAD: She would love to see you. I could drive you there this weekend.  
>    
>  ISAK: No need.  
>    
>  DAD: You know I can’t keep doing this once the baby is born.  
>    
>  ISAK: Not my fault  
>    
>  DAD: Right. No one is blaming you, son.  
>    
>  DAD: I just need you to understand that I can’t always be there for your mother, I have to be there for Trine and the baby now.  
>    
>  DAD: You’ve got to let me let her go.  
>    
>  ISAK: Didn’t need my permission the first time.  
>    
>  DAD: Fair enough.  
>    
>  DAD: Look, Trine is having a baby shower in August, and she’d love for you to come. Both of us would. You can bring your boyfriend.  
>    
>  ISAK: There’s no boyfriend  
>    
>  DAD: ???  
>    
>  ISAK: It’s over.  
>    
>  DAD: I’m sorry to hear that. How are you holding up?  
>    
>  DAD: Isak?

Isak drops his head onto the pillow with a disgruntled sigh and tosses his phone aside before folding his arms above his head and curling into himself, lying still like a badly finished sculpture.

Why should he care?

Why should he give a fuck about his dad’s sudden interest to bond and play house with some PhD student when most of Isak’s memories of him are memories of his absence.

He wasn’t there when Isak got the chickenpox.

He wasn’t there when Jonas taught Isak to shave.

And when Isak’s mom – when Isak’s mom had an episode and disappeared for three days, he wasn’t fucking there. Not in the ways that counted. He was only ever there halfheartedly, always one hand gripping the door handle, ready to leave the minute things got inconvenient for him, leaving Isak to take care of the rest.

Isak lifts his arm up, studies his stretched fingers as they blur against the ceiling.

He hadn’t stayed that much longer, either. He is his father’s son, after all. A total piece of shit who can’t stay or commit. Can’t visit his own mother because there would always be a next time, and then it would get too heavy. It’s better to not see her at all. It’s easier that way.

Isak curls up his fingers and then opens his palm, repeating the motion a few times as if trying to pump blood into his veins. Then he turns to lie on his side and chuckles softly.

“Your butt is on my phone,” he whispers gently and reaches out to grab his phone, then chuckles once more when the dog doesn’t budge an inch, only lets out a content snore that sounds like a small tractor on the verge of engine trouble.

Idly rubbing the dog behind her ear with his index finger, Isak smiles to himself. “What are you daydreaming of, little buddy?” he asks.

It’s funny how precious things feel when they are asleep, he thinks, as he brings his phone closer to his face and blankly stares at the text cursor blinking anticipatorily before tapping his dad’s message away. He then lets his thumb aimlessly scroll up and down on his chats, types the boys a quick reassurance that yes, the pregame at his place on Friday is still on, and is about to slip the phone into his pocket when his thumb halts over a certain name.

 _Even_.

They’ve been texting on and off. Sending each other stupid memes and random links. It hasn’t been easy, trying to play it cool when his heart starts beating rapidly in his chest like he was chased by lions every time Even’s name pops up on the screen. He knows he shouldn’t reply immediately – he doesn’t want to come off clingy and needy and fucking embarrassing. Doesn’t want Even to think Isak showers with his phone in case Even decides to send him a meme before going to bed, even though it may be partly true. Or completely true.

He plays it cool. Replies at random intervals, casually presses send like sweeping left on Tinder so it doesn’t show how long he spends on carefully picking the perfect link, picturing the grin on Even’s face as he opens it.

He’s been picturing Even’s face a lot lately. Not just picturing – looking at it, replaying some old high school video of his he found online, watching how Even’s eyes shine as he explains the plot of a movie his past self was working on. Isak is quite positive he’s been watching the light burning in Even’s eyes through his laptop screen more often than porn the past week or so, and he’s not sure what to make of the realization.

He doesn’t have time to make anything of the realization because his phone vibrates in his hand, and his heart starts racing.

 

 

 

> EVEN:  
>    
>    
>  EVEN: hey  
>    
>  EVEN: can you swim?  
>    
>  EVEN: or are you afraid of water?  
>    
>  ISAK: oh yeah fucking terrified  
>    
>  EVEN:  
>    
>    
>  ISAK: lmao  
>    
>  ISAK: I’m pretty sure I can swim way better than you  
>    
>  EVEN: cause I was thinking  
>    
>  EVEN: we should take the dogs to a dog beach. it’s been pretty hot and I think they’d like a swim to cool off  
>    
>  ISAK: cool  
>    
>  EVEN: so you in?  
>    
>  ISAK: yeah why not  
>    
>  EVEN: awesome. how about this Saturday?  
>    
>  ISAK: Saturday sounds good  
>    
>  EVEN: all right, it’s a date ;)  
>    
>  ISAK: for the dogs?  
>    
>  EVEN: for the dogs  
>    
>  EVEN: I think they might be lesbians  
>    
>  ISAK: hahaha lol  
>    
>  EVEN: I’ll pick you up at the dog park around 3?  
>    
>  EVEN: I hope you won’t look like a nerd in your speedo  
>    
>  ISAK: I’m more worried about you

Saturday is still three days away.

That’s three days too many.

*

“You need to get over Jarle, dude,” Magnus says drunkenly.

Isak takes a sip of his beer.  It’s lukewarm, but he’s had worse.

“I’m over him,” he replies tersely, not bothering to look Magnus in the eye. They are so not going to have this conversation.

“Are you? Are you really?” Magnus presses, peering at his face.

“There’s nothing to get over of.”

“But you were so in love!”

Isak rolls his eyes. “We weren’t in love,” he says.

“What do you mean, you weren’t in love?”

“I was never in love with him and he was never in love with me. Is that so hard to understand?” Isak says, making no attempt to hide the annoyance in his voice. When he had agreed to hosting this pregame, he had been under the impression they’d be gathering for the purposes of beer and banter, not to produce a fucking Dr Phil: Boys in Oslo Edition.

Jonas buries his face in his hands. “You’re so fucking thick sometimes.”

“Dude was totally fucking in love with you,” says Mahdi.

“He wasn’t in _love_  with me.”

“He bought you flowers!”

“That doesn’t mean he was in love with me,” Isak says defensively. His friends just don’t get it, do they. He’s not a lovable person. Now that it has been established could they please enjoy their beers in peace.

“He ate your ass!” Magnus cries out genuinely upset, which effectively makes Isak almost choke on his Tuborg.

“What the fuck?” Isak asks, eyes narrowing. He has no recollection of discussing the intricacies of his sex life with Magnus, and he is not interested in starting to make those memories now – hell fucking no. It’s common knowledge that the words Magnus and sex should never mix. Isak barely manages to live with himself after his thoughts wandered to Eskild lecturing him on dildo safety once during a lackluster blowjob. He would’ve taken a vow of celibacy had it been Magnus’s pouty face instead.

Jonas sucks his teeth and shakes his head. “Eva might’ve let it slip,” he offers apologetically.

“Okay he may have bought me flowers a couple of times or eaten my ass or whatever but we weren’t in love.”

“But you were boyfriends?”

Isak shrugs. “I guess.”

“But you weren’t in love?” Magnus asks, furrowing his brows as if Isak’s face were a problem in Boolean algebra.

“What’s your beef?”

“I’m just trying to understand.”

“Well I’m over him, that’s all you need to understand,” Isak says, almost biting off the words. Hopefully that will put an end to this Dr. Phil session.

“Will you ever get a new boyfriend then?”

“Huh?”

“I’m just saying, it’s been a while since we’ve seen you with anyone.”

Isak blinks. “And?”

“ _And_? We’re all brothers here, right?” Magnus slurs passionately, spilling beer on himself as Jonas and Mahdi raise their cans in agreement.

“We’re brothers,” he repeats with a wail, voice almost tearful now.

“Not with that face,” Isak jokes and leans back on his chair before continuing, “yeah Mags, we’re brothers all right, chill.”

“Can I hug you? You’re such a fucking cool guy, Isak. You deserve the best, you’re my bro. We just need to know you’re getting your ass eaten properly and all that other cool gay stuff we wish we could give you, you know.”

“That’s all you Mags, there’s no we in this conversation,” says Jonas.

“Yeah bro, don’t worry, you can leave us out of that equation,” Mahdi nods and salutes Isak with his can of beer.

“I don’t need to get my ass eaten every day to survive, Jesus,” Isak facepalms. “And it’s not like I wouldn’t be able to hook up with a guy if I tried. I’ve just been busy with school and shit.”

“Then can you do it right now?” Magnus asks, curiously glancing over at Isak’s phone like a kid hoping to get candy.

“What?”

“I wanna see how it works.”

“How what works?”

“Getting a guy.”

“No.”

“C’mon, I just wanna see.”

“No.”

“You can’t get a guy?”

“I can get a guy. I just don’t need you guys around when I do it.”’

“What’s wrong with having us around?”

“You know the answer to that.”

Magnus’s eyes widen. “Is it because you’re into leather stuff? Are you into leather stuff? Cause it’s totally cool with me even if you are. I’m totally chill with everything, like, so chill.”

“It’s not because I’m into leather stuff,” Isak snaps.  “Shit, I’m  _not_  into leather stuff.”

“Stop pestering him, Mags,” Jonas cuts in, and Isak is about to send him a wordless thank you but scraps the plan when Jonas continues, “if Isak says he can’t get a guy, then he can’t get a guy.”

“Fuck you all,” Isak sighs in defeat and grabs his phone. “Know that I’m only doing this cause I know none of you are getting any,” he says and rolls his eyes at the sight of Jonas and Mahdi high fiving each other.

“All right boys, we’re getting Isak’s ass eaten!” Magnus rejoices.

“One more word about my ass and I’m deleting the app.”

*

“What was wrong with that one?” Magnus asks in a disheartened tone as Isak swipes left on yet another shirtless guy.

“Too muscular,” Isak groans.

Magnus looks at him with a puzzled expression before pointing his finger at the screen. “And this one?”

Isak scratches his head. “Too everything.”

“This one’s hot,” says Mahdi, nodding approvingly at the pecs of CockSugar879. "Dude's got my vote."

“I don’t like the tattoo.”

“You can’t pass on this guy,” says Jonas.

 “I don’t like his shirt.

“ _Dude_ , who cares about the shirt, I’m not into dudes but I recognize a good dick.”

“Jesus Isak, we’ve looked at like fifty guys and you’re telling me there’s not one fuckable guy in here?” Magnus frets.

“They just haven’t been my type,” Isak says with a shrug.

“Then what is your type?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know what your type is yet this hottie isn’t your type?”

“I don’t fucking know.”

“What are you looking for in a guy?”

“I don’t know,” Isak shrugs again. “I like that he’s a bit taller than me. Big hands. Blue eyes. Plump lips. Some freckles. Deep voice.”

“That’s pretty specific, dude.”

“You should lower your standards with that face,” Mahdi says with a grin, and Isak shoots him a glare.

Magnus lets out a deep sigh. “I’m so bummed we didn’t get Isak’s ass eaten tonight,” he says gloomily, then abruptly slaps his forehead so hard it makes Isak jolt. “Shit!”

“Dude, it’s chill, no need to beat yourself over it.”

“Huh? Oh, no, it’s not about your ass. It’s my ass.”

“Before you finish that sentence, does anyone have any noise cancelling earplugs?” Mahdi asks, rummaging in his pocket.

“Yeah, maybe now’s not the best time to bring up any of your personal ass play history,” Jonas says playfully, making Isak snicker. Times may change but the fun in taking the piss out of Magnus never does.

“Hahahaha ha, very funny,” Magnus replies with flushed cheeks, then shifts slightly in his chair, straightening his posture. “It’s about my mom,” he manages to say before color begin to draw out of Isak's face.

“Is she --,” Isak begins, voice faltering. “Is she all right? Did something happen to her?” he asks tentatively, bracing himself for Magnus’s reply.

“Huh? To my  _mom_?” Magnus blinks in confusion. Then his face lights up like he’s just realized something important, and he lets out a hearty laugh. “No no no, chill man, my mom’s good. She made skolebuller for you, as a belated birthday present,” he explains fondly, and Isak lets go of a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

“My mom’s bipolar, not terminally ill, you know,” Magnus says, smiling when Isak nods in embarrassment.

“So anyway, my mom made skolebuller for you, and I was supposed to bring them to you, and I did, but then I was on the tram, and picture this, there was this fucking hot chick, like Vilde level hot, so obviously I was like, wow, how cool would it be if this chick sat next to me, I was really feeling the chemistry, so I decided to move, you know, to sit on the window seat, to make room for her, so I did, and then I felt something soft under my ass, soft and flat, and I was like, shit – that’s my mom’s buns.”

“You sat on your mom’s skolebuller?”

“I fucking did,” Magnus deadpans, causing everyone else to crack up. “They’re a bit flattened but I think you can still eat them,” he says with a hint of remorse in his voice as he places the bag of buns onto the table.

“As long as they don’t taste like your ass,” Isak says with a grin, relieved laughter bubbling out of him.

“Awesome, smoking always makes me crave for some skrolebuller,” Mahdi hums, rubbing his palms together.

“What happened with the chick?” Jonas asks, munching on a bun.

“Yeah man, what happened there?” Isak mumbles, licking his fingers.

“Turns out the tram driver was her girlfriend,” Magnus laments.

“Aww that’s too bad,” Mahdi commiserates. “Hey, maybe we should do something fun tomorrow, help you forget. Always look forward, bro.”

“I can’t tomorrow,” Isak says, feeling a light blush creep onto his cheeks at the mere thought of what tomorrow might entail.

Magnus raises an eyebrow. “Are you getting your ass eaten tomorrow?”

“Oh yeah, right after I’ve taken the dog for a swim,” Isak says smugly.

“You’re taking her for a swim?” Magnus asks, eyes sparkling. “Can we come?”

“You won't fit in the car. Eskild’s grandma is driving,” Isak says nonchalantly. Growing up in the closet made him a pretty decent liar. Not that he needs to lie to his friends all that often, not anymore, but there are still some things that are too fragile to be shared or spoken out loud, Even being one of them.

“That’s not the real reason, I know it,” Magnus says with a smirk, and Isak's face gets hotter by the minute. Has he really become this transparent? How does he think he’s going to keep himself together tomorrow if even  _Magnus_  is able to see through his thirst?

“What?” Isak snarls, squinting his eyes.

“It’s a nude beach, isn’t it? Come on, you can tell me. I’m totally cool with that stuff.”

“It’s not a nude beach, Magnus,” Isak says, willing away the part of him that wishes it would be.

*

It’s not a nude beach.

In fact, calling this landscape of rocks and sticks spreading out into the sea any kind of beach at all might be stretching it, Isak thinks as he rubs his sore neck. He had spent a good portion of the 45-minute drive from the city stealing glances at Even from the passenger seat, and frankly it had made him a little bit carsick.

“I can’t believe you’d never heard of Nas,” Even laughs, opening the rear door to let the dogs out of the car.

“I’d heard of him,” Isak insists, momentarily losing his balance as the dogs begin to chase each other, running laps around his feet.

Even wiggles his eyebrows knowingly before pulling his t-shirt off over his head, a trail of blond hair peeking out from beneath his waistband as he stretches his back and lifts his arms up. “Didn’t seem like it in the car.”

Isak licks his lips, mesmerized by the way sunlight flickers across Even’s bare chest, making his skin glimmer in shades of white and gold. “I had heard of him,” Isak squeaks weakly. It takes the mental image of Eskild’s grandmother in her leopard print bathrobe to stop his dick from twitching uncomfortably in his swim trunks.

Even hums in response, laying out a blanket on the gravelly sand before lying down. Then he props himself up on one elbow and cocks his head, peeking at Isak over his sunglasses. “I thought you’d come wearing a speedo.”

“Nah,” Isak scoffs, crinkling his nose in disapproval before sitting down onto the far end of the blanket, careful not to brush Even’s leg with his own. Does this guy seriously not own a bigger blanket? Isak is sure he’s seen sanitary pads larger than this rag in the share house bathroom.

He tries his best to keep his thoughts focused on Linn’s sanitary pads as Even scratches his nipple and makes a low growling noise in the back of his throat. He can do this. He will not sport an awkward boner in Even’s presence.

“You seem like a bit of a nerd so I thought you just might,” says Even.

“I seem like a nerd?!”

“Maybe not now but usually. You gotta admit your memes are pretty geeky.”

“I’m not a  _nerd_. I’m a biology student.”

“There’s a difference?”

“ _Obviously_  there’s a difference.”

“So, what does being Mr. Biology Student entail?” Even asks, popping open a juice box.

“I study evolution, mostly,” Isak says with a shrug, mouth filled with cotton as he watches Even’s lips tighten around the straw.

“Sounds fancy,” says Even, voice sounding genuinely interested, which makes Isak flush a little. He’s not really used to talking about himself this way. As it happens, not many people outside of school are dying to hear about the latest insights into the karyotype evolution of the free-living flatworm.

“We study the origin of life and the diversification and adaptation of life forms over time and shit.”

“A genius, huh?” Even grins, then shakes his juice box and empties it with one long suck, letting out a burp once he’s done. “I should step up my meme game. Titillate that intellect.”

“Are you taking the piss out of me?”

“I’m not taking the piss out of you. I think what you do is fucking cool.”

“Seriously?”

“We should all ask ourselves – is there anything more important than the study of orgasms?”

“ _Organisms_.”

“Is that not what I said?”

“Shut up,” Isak chuckles, dropping his gaze to hide the sheepish smile spreading across his face. “Okay, what do you do then that’s so much less nerdy?” he asks, realizing for the first time how little he actually  _knows_  about Even.

He knew Jarle was a 4th year engineering student after talking to him for two minutes at a party, yet he has no label to put on Even despite having known him for almost three weeks. He has no idea where he lives or what he studies – although Isak has started suspecting he might be a student at some hipster art school after stalking his high school portfolio a few times too many.

And it doesn’t bother him, this not knowing, he realizes, watching the way Even’s chest heaves as the aftershocks of laughter ripple through his body. What Even is outside of this moment matters very little when he is here, sun-kissed, chest heaving, grains of sand in his belly button, windswept hair sticking to his forehead.

“I can give you a hint,” Even says. “I’m a working man. But, sadly, many people don’t like stepping into my place of work.”

“A dentist?”

“Where have you seen a 22-year-old dentist?”

“How should I know you’re 22!”

“You’ve had the pleasure of seeing my face.”

“I thought maybe you’d just had a lot of work done.”

“With all that cash I’ve made pulling people’s teeth.”

“Yeah.”

“Try again,” Even says, sprawling himself on the blanket. “Many of my customers leave unhappy.”

“I don’t know! An opera singer.”

“I’m learning many interesting things about you, but no.”

“Can’t you just tell me?”

“Okay. I’m a tortured artist, if you will. I work in a photo studio.”

“I don’t get it.”

“I take passport photos for a living.”

“Oh.”

“There’s the occasional family portrait or engagement photo, but mostly it’s just chin up, don’t smile, hold that face, day in and day out,” Even says, letting out a huff of breath. “It’s not exactly rewarding.”

“It’s not your fault if someone doesn’t like their face,” Isak smiles, hoping it’s not coming off too awkward. Comforting people has never been his area of expertise.

Even hums. “Do you like your passport photo?”

“I don’t have a passport,” Isak replies, then in a moment of sincerity adds, “I don’t need it.”

“You’re not one of those university students that need to go and find themselves in Cambodia at least once a year?”

Isak shakes his head. “Nah. Nothing for me in Cambodia.”

“The food there’s heavenly.”

“You’ve been?”

“A couple of years ago,” Even says. “On a journey to self-discovery,” he adds with a sneer, giving what Isak recognizes as a self-deprecating laugh.

“Oh.”

“Don’t forget to try their curry soup if you ever go.”

“I can’t go,” Isak says quietly, because something about Even makes him want to say it. “To Cambodia. Or anywhere.”

“You can’t?”

“I can’t. If -- if something happens while I’m gone,” Isak says, voice trailing off, drowned by the calling of seagulls circling in the air.

Even purses his lips but doesn’t respond, just breathes out heavily. Isak can’t read the expression on his face, but it’s as if he understands.

After a moment of silence, Even sits up and turns to look at Isak. “Hey,” he says softly. His gaze is intent, like it holds a promise. “If you ever need a photo for your passport, I’ll take it for you.”

“Thanks,” is all Isak manages to say before Even springs to his feet and offers his hand to pull Isak up.

Only this time Isak doesn’t wipe his palms before clasping it.

“Last one in the ocean loses.”

*

They don’t talk much after that, instead running in the crashing waves until they are both exhausted, voices hoarse from laughing and screaming, skin smelling of sweat and salt and sunscreen.

Isak doesn’t know how long they’ve spent chasing each other, shouting nonsense over the roars of the sea, collapsing into the coarse sand between rounds, but it must have been hours because the sun is hovering on the other side of the horizon now, like fire on a mirror. It’s beautiful, like something that would appear in the closing scene of a movie, Isak knows that much, yet it doesn’t take his breath away.

What does is the way it glows on Even’s face, softly melting into every freckle and strand of hair, swallowing him whole.

“We should probably start heading back,” Even says, and Isak and the dogs follow him back to the car in silence.

*

Isak yawns, resting his temple against the window.

“Sleep,” Even says gently. “We’ve still got at least twenty minutes. I’ll wake you up once we’re there.”

“Nah, I’m good,” Isak says, giving Even a reassuring smile. Why would anyone choose to doze off when they could be admiring Even’s features from a close distance for another twenty minutes, breathing in the salt cooling off on his skin.

Even gives him a nod, then chuckles at the loud snores coming off from the backseat. “Lykke must be having some pretty sweet dreams.”

“I didn’t know a dog could snore that loudly,” Isak rolls his eyes. “Although I guess it’s better now, this way. When I first got her, she’d spend her nights wailing and crying and scratching at the door like I was keeping her hostage.”

“She’s a young dog still,” Even smiles, talking to Isak through the rear-view mirror. “It was probably scary for her, not understanding where her owner went.”

“Yeah.”

“She’d be a teenager in human age, you know. I’d have lost my shit if my parents left me without a warning when I was her age.”

“Yeah.”

“But she’s better now?”

Isak knows his voice is trembling. “She’s better know.”

“Just shows you’ve taken a really good care of her. You should be proud of yourself,” Even says, giving Isak a friendly pat on the shoulder, and Isak feels himself shrink.

“I guess,” Isak says with a small laugh, but it comes off forced, dying out midway like the song in the background.

“Fuck, I think my phone’s battery is dying,” Even swears under his breath.

“Do you mind if I turn on the radio instead?” he asks, tweaking the channels until his finger stops on some obscure indie radio Isak’s never heard of before. He lets out a surprised laugh as he does so, then turns his head toward Isak, sparks in his eyes as Isak meets his gaze in confusion. “They’re playing this song! Shit, I can’t remember the name of the band. Do you know this song?”

 _And don't let them speak for you_  
_And don't let them speak for you_  
_I can't hear you_  
_Tell me what you got to say_  
_I can't hear you_  
  
_Things'll get better_  
_'cause they can't get worse, oh_  
_Things'll get better_  
_'cause they can't get worse_  
_No they can't get worse_  
_Things are gonna get better_

Isak doesn’t know the song.

It burns so he squeezes his eyes shut, knowing a tear will fall out if he opens them now. If he can just keep them shut, everything will be fine.

It is  _fine_.

“Isak?” Even’s voice is soft and worried. “Are you okay?”

Isak opens his eyes at the sound of Even’s voice, and it is a mistake, because the tear he’s tried to fight starts spilling and running down -- it’s a mistake because then there is a thumb, gentle like a feather, brushing across his cheek, and Isak swats it away on an instinct.

“Sorry,” Even says quietly and pulls his hand away, blankly staring at the steering wheel. “I didn’t mean to.”

 _Put it back_ , Isak wants to say.  _Put it back and fucking touch me_.

_Fucking touch me in the way I don’t deserve to be touched._

Isak doesn’t say it. He doesn’t say anything, just turns his face away and starts counting street lamps until it makes his head spin.

When he finally opens his mouth to speak his voice is clear and calm, like talking to a taxi driver.

“You can drop me here. I can walk myself home.”

“I’m really sorry, I overstepped.”

“Good night, Even,” Isak says, avoiding looking at his face in the mirror as he gets off.

He knows there is a mark without having to see it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so insecure about this chapter i actually had a nightmare where i got an anonymous comment claiming i've ripped off a science fiction novel published in 1996????? so please be kind with me, i am a fragile soul.
> 
> the song Even couldn't quite recall is gonna get better by broken social scene. it's a Jam.
> 
> i don't have a beta because i don't want to bother people, and i'm in a foreign country speaking a foreign language while writing this thing in another foreign language so the grammar and word choices aren't probably the best rip.


	4. Summer storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes what you need is a little bit of rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! i am here again with another chapter. 
> 
> thank you so so much for every single kudos and comment and bookmark so far, they really do mean a lot to me! the amount of hate and negativity currently being spread around in this fandom is kinda making me doubt whether i want to have my work out there, but as long as this fic can bring even a tiny bit of joy to even one person, i guess posting it is worth it. ❤ hopefully there is still a place for my small verse in this fandom!
> 
> anyway, let's get down to business.

“The princess has awoken! I thought you were going to sleep all day there,” Eskild exclaims, giving Isak a scrutinizing look from head to toe. “Had too much to drink last night?” he asks in amusement while emptying the coffee pot into a floral mug, humming the tune to Over the Rainbow under his breath.

Isak narrows his eyes as Eskild snaps his fingers against the porcelain one, two, three times before passing the mug to Isak.

“Here, a magic potion from your guru. I used my grandmother’s secret ingredient that cures hangover, heartbreak and heatstroke — sometimes also hard-ons so drink at your own risk if you’re planning on getting some today."

Isak accepts the coffee with a groan and covers his mouth with his hand to fake a cough.

“My throat’s a bit sore, I think it’s the flu,” he says, slumping down into the nearest chair — it’s a lie, and not even a particularly good one, but Isak is not sure whether it’s meant to convince Eskild or himself. Maybe saying it will make it true, and then he won’t have spent most of this sunny Sunday afternoon in bed feeling sorry for himself.

He had walked home the previous night, not even once looking back — partly because he was afraid he’d find Even there, and partly because he was afraid he wouldn’t. He had kicked off his shoes, quickly washed his face and gone straight to bed, memory of the sea still lingering as salt on his skin.

Then it had started to itch, feeling like his skin was about to peel off in the dead of the night, so he’d taken a shower to wash off the salt. He’d tried jerking off to the memory of some guy who’d sucked him off against the shower wall during one of Eskild’s parties but nothing would come out, and when he had finally spilled into his hand and the sewer it had been Even’s name on his lips.

It had taken him hours to fall asleep afterwards, and when he’d woken up the sun had already passed its highest point yet the aftertaste of Even’s name was still bitter in his mouth. He’d tried sending a text but erased it, then lay next to his phone with his head on the pillow, disappointment sinking to the bottom of his belly every time the numbers on the digital clock display changed while everything else remained the same.

Which doesn’t make much sense because it’s not like they owe each other anything.

They’re just two people whose dogs happen to be fond of each other — and technically speaking not even that since Lykke is Isak’s only for a little while. It’s all borrowed time, which is okay, because it’s not like there are any major feelings involved. Maybe some lust from Isak’s side, because Even's got a face and Isak's got a pair of eyes, but that’s where it ends. Eva is going to come back and then they’d have no reason to keep seeing each other anyway.

It’s okay.

The lump in his throat is just the beginning of a flu.

“A flu during one of the hottest summers in the history of our proud nation?” Eskild asks with an arched eyebrow. “Only the good lord knows what disease you’ve managed to pick up with all that time you’ve been spending in that park with all those dog people,” he says theatrically, then purses his lips as Isak winces at the words. “Relax, you know I’m only joking. I’m sure it’s not rabies— Did I tell you about the time my great-aunt thought she had rabies until she realized she was just in love? Poor woman, no doctor could fix that problem! 'I wish it had been rabies,' those were her last words. Well, technically not her _last_ words as she is currently admitted into a nursing home in Lillestrøm, but some of her words, in any case.”

Isak rolls his eyes and emits another faux cough.

“There’s a letter for you, by the way,” Eskild says after a pause, nodding toward a pile of fliers and unopened mail at the end of the counter. “It’s been there since Friday.”

“I already know what’s in it.”

“It never hurts to look.”

“It’s an invitation,” Isak says. “To a baby shower.”

“Who’s having a baby?” Linn asks from the doorway.

“No one.”

“There’s a shower for a ghost baby? Cool!”

“It’s my dad,” Isak says dryly, figuring that giving a straightforward answer is the quickest way out of this conversation.

“My dad’s having a baby. The end.”

“You’re getting a sibling?”

“No.”

“But your dad’s having a baby? Wouldn’t that make you related?”

“What my dad decides to do with his jizz has got nothing to do with me.”

“That’s not how biology works, though.”

“Fuck biology.”

“Anyway, I think it’s going to rain tonight, I can feel it in my bones,” Eskild cuts in to change the subject. “This drought has really taken a toll on my gerberas— sometimes what you need is a little bit of rain, don’t you think?”

Isak shrugs and takes a sip of his coffee, grimacing at the bitterness of it. “What the fuck did you put in this?”

“My grandmother’s secret ingredient,” Eskild says, a smirk like a Cheshire cat creeping across his face. “Sweet as sugar, bitter as gall.”

“Poison of the goblins?”

“Not poison, Cruella—just a little touch of L’Amour.”

*

The day drags on without a single ding from Isak’s phone.

Everyone including Vilde and her tireless Candy Crush requests seem to have been swept off from the face of the earth, and even Lykke has spent most of the day fast asleep after tiring herself out trying to destroy the unopened envelope from Isak’s dad.

“It’s not good for you, you have better toys,” Isak whispers, tugging the envelope from underneath her paws. He holds it to the light as though to detect any damages, then swings it toward the trash bin, missing it by several inches.

“Fuck,” he swears under his breath and uses his toes to pick up the envelope, then hurriedly places it under a text book as his phone starts ringing.

“Hi Eva,” he says, almost panting, swallowing the taste of disappointment on his tongue.

“Isaaaak,” Eva greets him enthusiastically, pushing her face closer to the camera. “You don’t seem too happy to see me. Ooh, could it be that you were waiting for a booty call?” she asks with a mischievous smirk — is today some kind of international Smirk At Isak Valtersen Day and as usual no one’s bothered to let him know?

“Isn’t it like 3 am there?” Isak asks, brushing off her question.

“You of all people don’t get to lecture me on proper bed times,” Eva replies. “I saw you online on Facebook when I woke up today.”

“Are you drunk?”

“I’m not drunk.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Babe, you know my motto— Work hard, party harder,” Eva slurs. “But that’s not why I called you. I wanna see my baby.”

“She’s sleeping, I don’t want to wake her up.”

Eva raises an eyebrow and cocks her head. “When did you get so protective of her?”

“The connection is pretty bad, I can’t hear you.”

“Isak the mama bear, who would’ve thought.”

“I’m not a fucking mama bear,” Isak snaps— he has accumulated quite an impressive collection of unflattering nicknames during the trials and tribulations of his unfortunate friendship with the likes of Eva and Eskild, but this one is by far the worst.

The worst _and_ the least accurate. Total bullshit. Absolutely zero accuracy.

“Say it again,” Eva taunts.

“I’m not a fucking mama bear.”

“You totally sound like a mama bear! Say it again! Come on!”

“No,” Isak says and hides the phone under a mound of dirty underwear.

“Hey, what’re you doing! Not on my face! Eww, gross! Get me away from here! _Isak_!”

“Okay, cool, where were we,” Eva says out of breath, whipping her hair back and forth as though she had indeed just resurfaced from underneath a pile of sweaty boxers. “Now let me see her face, just a peek, pretty please. Awww isn’t she the cutest, my tiny sleepy baby. Wait—is that your pillow?”

“She fell asleep on top of it, what was I supposed to do.”

“You’re letting her sleep on your pillow! You are such a sap,” Eva giggles. “Has Eskild been putting something in your drink or did you just get old?”

“I’m putting you back there,” Isak says, pointing the camera at the pile of laundry.

“Okay, okay, chill, enough about you, old sap. Let’s talk about me,” Eva says. “I think I’m in love.”

“You’re not in love.”

“I didn’t call you so you could give me one of your nerd talks about endolphins—endorphins, same shit.”

“You’ve only been there for like a month.”

“And it’s been the best month of my life,” Eva says, her whole face lighting up. “Do you always need to be so cynical? Hello, have you seen Sana and Yousef? They were calling each other soulmates after their second date, and they’re still as grossly in love as ever. Wanna know his nickname for her? _Butterfly_.”

“That’s different,” Isak says firmly.

“How is it different?”

“It just is,” Isak repeats, but his voice lacks conviction, and he can already feel his cheeks heating up.

“Wow, you’ve learned some pretty great argumentation skills at university. How am I supposed to be able to talk to you now, maybe I should enroll to get on your level.”

“I just mean that they come from stable families so they have their parents to look up to—“

Eva snorts. “I don’t know if you’re projecting or seriously trying to shame me for having a single mom, but Isak honestly– just because your parents messed up doesn’t mean you will. I know you don’t like to talk about this stuff and I won’t force you but I’m just saying, maybe you should try to let go a little bit. It could be good for you.”

“I wasn’t talking about myself,” Isak mumbles, pressing his lips into a thin line. “I just don’t wanna see you get hurt.”

“Look, I didn’t call you to call you out on your shit,” Eva says. “I just wanted to see my baby and tell you that I’ve met a girl who makes me feel more alive than I’ve ever been before. Maybe you’re right and it won’t last, and yeah, I know the timing is what it is, but if the options are _definitely_ not having her and _maybe_ not having her, it’s not all that hard to choose, you know?”

“Okay.”

“There’s power in the maybe,” Eva says with an attempted wink that turns into a loud giggle. “I sounded pretty intellectual there, don’t you think? Anyway— I’ve said my piece, and I really don’t want to miss the sunrise.”

“Okay.”

“Catch up with you later.”

“Eva—,“ Isak begins, the words feeling heavy like a lump in his throat. “I’m sorry. About what I said.”

“Apology accepted.”

“I mean— Only you can feel what you feel.”

Eva grins. “Mine was still better, Valtersen.”

“We’ll see about that.”

“Good night, Mama Bear. You’d better not be online when I log onto Facebook.”

*

The night drags on.

There is a spider on the ceiling, and Isak keeps tossing to and fro in his bed until his restless body can no longer take it.

He sits up and grabs the hoodie on the floor, wrinkling his nose at the smell of it before throwing it on. The floor creaks as he tiptoes across the kitchen to the hallway in his pajama pants and hurriedly slips on a pair of Eskild’s slippers before sneaking outside, Lykke following in his step, her wet little nose curiously sniffing the thick summer air.

Outside everything stands still as if Isak had just stepped into a painting.

Somewhere beyond the troposphere dawn is breaking, but the clouds hanging above the city are dark and heavy like lead.

Isak doesn’t know where he’s going, just lets his legs take him down the empty street and around the corner, past the dimmed lights of a bookstore and a swarm of drowsy pigeons, and before he knows it he’s reached a very familiar park.

Isak snorts. He didn’t plan to come here, but his body planned otherwise. The gate makes a loud creaking noise as he pushes it open, and Lykke lets out a single bark.

“Shhh,” Isak whispers, then turns his head, every muscle in his body freezing.

Seeing Professor Quirrell feast on unicorn blood would’ve startled him less.

It’s Even.

Standing there in a pair of shorts and a white t-shirt, arms and legs pale against the gray morning light—it’s Even. Their eyes meet, and Even seems to hesitate for a while, shifting from one foot to the other. Isak can’t help but close his eyes and hold his breath, his pulse quickening as the sound of long footsteps moves toward him. _Please please please_.

“Hi,” Even says, the mere sound of his voice sending shivers down Isak’s spine because even through closed eyelids Isak can sense him smiling.

“Hi,” Isak replies cheerfully as he slowly opens his eyes, almost afraid that seeing Even’s face will make him go blind. He hopes against hope that his voice won’t betray the way his heart is beating in his chest, loud enough to shatter his ribcage.

“I didn’t know you were an early bird.”

“You know, the life of a dog owner,” Isak shrugs as though everything about this moment were an everyday occurrence.

“Yeah…” Even says with a smile, but it doesn’t make his eyes crinkle.

Isak lets out a nervous laugh and shakes his head. “Who am I kidding—,” he says, lowering his head and biting his lip. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Me neither.”

“Oh,” Isak breathes out. “That’s funny— I mean not _funny_ funny, but like, ‘hey we’re both wandering around Oslo at 4 am because we can’t sleep’ kind of…funny.”

Even snorts. “It is pretty funny.”

“Yeah?” Isak says, lifting up his gaze to meet Even’s. There are dark circles around his eyes that Isak doesn’t remember being there on Saturday, but they don’t take away from the fact that Even at 4 am is fucking beautiful.

“Maybe it’s fate.”

“Fated fuck-ups, huh?” Isak says, a corner of his mouth twitching.

Even nods and gives Isak’s arm a gentle punch. “Fated fuck-ups.”

Isak sucks in a breath and pauses before speaking. He’s shit with words and he knows it, always blurting out the wrong thing at the wrong moment, but he doesn’t want to make this more awkward than it needs to be.

“Yesterday when I—,“ he begins, but his words are cut off by peals of thunder followed by the anxious wails of the dogs. There is another loud crash and then it starts to pour, rain drilling the asphalt like popping bubble wrap on the other side of the gate. “—Fuck.”

“Follow me,” Even shouts through the rain. His hand finds Isak’s, soft and warm and strong, pulling him along as though there were a magnet inside his palm.

“Where?” Isak asks, flustered. He’s already soaked to the bone and shivering, yet he can’t bring himself to give a fuck. Actual cats and dogs could be falling from the sky right now for all he cares, and he still wouldn’t be able to look away from their fingers laced together tightly yet tenderly.

“I live across the street,” Even replies, hastening his pace until they are nearly galloping, and blood rumbles in Isak's ears louder than thunder.

The ground is slippery, and Eskild’s slippers are not exactly made for running, squeaking like a rubber duck being strangled on every step.

“Fuck, Even, wait— I lost my shoe, fucking Eskild’s shit shoe.”

“I’ll go back and get it. See that building over there? I live there. Wait for me under the roof, I’ll be right there, baby, okay?”

“Okay,” Isak nods, hesitatingly loosening his grip.

It’s only after he leans his hand against the door to calm his breath and to still his thudding heart that it hits him.

_Did Even just call him baby?_

Must have been the drum of the rain.

*

Even’s apartment is a small studio on the top floor of a 5-story building.

It’s messy but not unclean: a misplaced coffee cup here and there, a bundle of jeans on the floor, an unmade bed, and a half-eaten sandwich on the kitchen counter, but the counter itself is spotless as Isak runs a finger over it, anxiously swaying on his feet while waiting for Even to sort out the dogs in the bathtub — apparently the bathroom is too cramped to comfortably accommodate two muddy dogs and two boys soaked to the skin.

He’s wearing a pair of Even’s sweatpants and Even’s hoodie, his own damp clothes hung over the back of a chair, Even’s scent wrapped around him like second skin. The hoodie is a little bit too long at the sleeves and it makes Isak feel thirteen again, his palms sweaty and his heartbeat restless like the day he visited Jonas’s house for the first time to borrow an Xbox game even though he didn’t have the console.

“I would’ve cleaned up if I knew you were coming,” he hears Even say before turning around to see him lazily leaning against the door frame, a grin playing on his lips.

Isak fixes his gaze on the drawings on the wall to distract himself from the fact that Even is very much not wearing a shirt, only a towel draped across his objectively broad shoulders.

“Cool drawings. Did you draw them?”

“I did,” Even says, then asks with a hint of wonder in his voice. “You like them?”

“They’re really funny. I bet you could get into art school with these.”

Even hums, then gives a half-smile. “That ship’s already sailed.”

“Eskild’s grandma always says you’re never too old for anything. She just started taking guitar lessons,” Isak finds himself saying, sighing in relief when Even gives a genuinely delighted laugh.

“You really like talking about this Eskild guy, don’t you?”

Isak blushes. He doesn’t talk about Eskild _that_ much, right?

“He’s my roommate. I’ve been living with him since I was 16.”

“So he’s like a brotherly figure?”

“Something like that,” Isak says, wincing. It’s the first time he’s had to define his relationship with Eskild to another person, and it’s fucking embarrassing.

“That’s my brother in that drawing.”

“You have a brother?”

“And a sister,” Even nods. “I’m the youngest. But my brother lives in Bangkok and my sister’s in Tromsø so I don’t see them that often.”

“I’m sorry. If that makes you sad.”

Even smiles fondly and shakes his head. “Nah. Just means we have to make the best of it whenever we do see each other. Sometimes you only learn to appreciate things once they are gone.”

“Makes sense.”

“Do you have any siblings beside that Eskild of yours?”

“I don’t—,” Isak begins, but then clenches his jaw. “Or my piece of shit excuse for a dad is having a kid so I guess I kinda do. It’s complicated, ehh.”

“Most things in life are,” Even says, a hand lightly pinching Isak’s shoulder as he walks past him to the refrigerator. “Sit down, make yourself at home. Would you like something to drink? I’ve got tea and Fanta, it seems.”

“Fanta sounds good right now,” Isak nods, sitting down onto Even’s unmade bed. Maybe a nice glass of cold Fanta will help him flush down these wild thoughts of Even panting in these sheets.

“My cups are all more or less dirty so you’ll have to drink out of the bottle. Think you can manage that?” Even asks with a wink as he throws Isak the bottle of soda.

“I’ll manage—,” Isak grins back, but the grin is short-lived as the bottle hisses out a pfffftt sound before the soda starts jumping out violently, the sticky liquid forming patterns on his sweatpants. “Fuck!”

“Sorry, that was my fault,” Even says as he kneels down to press what appears to be a t-shirt against Isak’s wet crotch. Isak can feel his breath getting closer and closer to his face, and it makes his dick twitch a little too eagerly for the situation, so he puts his hand on top of Even’s to let him know he’s okay.

“It’s fine, I can take it from here.”

“Oh, right,” Even says, but he doesn’t make an effort to move his hand away.

Neither does Isak, because apparently having Even this close to his crotch makes his brain switch off, so they stay that way for what feels like an eternity, Even kneeling on the floor and Isak sitting on the bed, their hands on top of each other in Isak’s lap.

Isak licks his lips.

The truth is, he’s not much of a risk taker. He’s no Van Damme for sure. He’d rather order the same pizza every time than try something new and maybe be disappointed. No surprises, no disappointments— that has been his motto for the past years, and it has served him quite well. There have been very few surprises and very few disappointments. And yet—

Maybe Eva is right.

Maybe there is power in the maybe.

Maybe—

“I could swear you’re doing this on purpose,” Isak whispers before moving his hand behind Even’s head and pulling his mouth against his.

“Maybe,” Even grins against his lips. “Do you like it?”

“I hate it,” Isak mumbles and curls his fingers in Even’s hair.

The kiss begins soft and sweet, almost innocent, but it grows heated within moments, and there are butterflies in his belly, a fucking butterfly sanctuary, or an army of crazed bats, or maybe a pterodactyl, or those dragons from Game of Thrones, that’s how it feels like because he is flying, flying and falling, and his skin is burning hot with want.

Even’s towel is gone and so is Isak’s hoodie, and whenever Even lets out a broken moan Isak swallows it, takes Even’s bottom lip between his teeth and sucks on it, eager hands roaming on Even’s bare back, pulling him on top of him on the bed.

Then Even abruptly breaks off the kiss, leaving Isak whine in protest.

“Isak,” Even pants, lips lingering against Isak’s a second longer before he pulls back. “I don’t want this to be a one-time thing,” he says, and it sounds like a prayer.

“Me neither,” Isak exhales, desperately trying to chase Even’s mouth.

“You sure?” Even asks, lightly stroking his fingertips across Isak’s brow, and something vulnerable glints in his eyes as he does so.

“I’m sure,” Isak hears himself say, and it surprises him because he realizes it’s true.

This is the part where he gets scared and backs off, or at least it should be, yet Isak is certain he’s never been as fearless as he is right now, sprawled under Even flushed and panting, dick probably smelling of Fanta. If there exists even the tiniest possibility of having all of this—

Then he’s willing to take the risk of being left with nothing at all.

“You might change your mind. I don’t want to lie to you so I need you to know something first.”

“Are you a wanted criminal? Cause I don’t care if you are. There are times when I feel like murdering—“

“I’m bipolar,” Even says, looking deep into Isak’s eyes as though they held the answer to a question he doesn’t dare to ask.

“Magnus’s mom is bipolar,” Isak blurts before he can stop himself, then wishes he were flexible enough to kick himself in the balls. _Magnus's mom is bipolar_ , really? Why couldn't he have at least picked someone famous. Like Emil Post.

“Is Magnus also a brotherly figure?”

“Baby please don’t make me think about Magnus when I’m about to say something corny like your being bipolar doesn’t make me want you any less.”

Even’s eyes widen a little at the confession.

“Do you want me?” he asks quietly, and it is perhaps the most ridiculous question Isak has heard in his life.

“I’ve wanted you since day one. I mean I tried to resist it because I always fuck up but turns out you’re pretty fucking irresistible,” Isak says. “That thing yesterday in the car… That wasn’t you. It was me. It was me being a fuck-up who fucks everything up.”

“You’re not a fuck-up,” Even says and presses a kiss to his forehead.

“Neither are you.”

“So umm…” Even swallows, eyes trailing off to the wet patch in Isak’s pants. “Do I suck you off now?” he asks in confusion, and they both burst into laughter.

Fifteen minutes earlier Isak would’ve gladly sat through Magnus listing his top ten sex positions if he could just have his dick in Even’s mouth, but now the moment feels too vulnerable somehow, the words exchanged still raw in his throat. 

“We could do other things,” he says, running his fingers over Even’s collarbone. “You could serenade me your favorite ABBA song. Come on, give me your Dancing Queen.”

“That’s not my favorite ABBA song.”

“It isn’t?”

“My favorite ABBA song is Take a Chance On Me.”

“Well play it then,” Isak says, rubbing his nose against Even’s jaw.

“Will you sing it with me?” Even asks, smoothing Isak’s hair back out of his eyes.

“I don’t know the lyrics.”

“I’ll teach you.”

“I'd rather drink ammonia than sing.”

“Come on, I wanna hear you sing.”

“I have a better idea,” Isak says and flips them around so that they’re lying side by side, nose to nose, eyelash to eyelash. “Aren’t you tired? We could sleep.”

He knows there are discussions to be had, knows he knows very little, understands only a minuscule of what this means—but right now everything feels so simple: the way their bodies fit together so easily; the way morning light streaming through the window blinds paints a stripe across Even’s cheek that wavers as he laughs, and how observing it calms down Isak’s breath, lulling him to sleep.

“We could do that,” Even smiles, nuzzling closer.

Particles of dust glimmer in the air as they fall into Even’s hair. There are hundreds upon hundreds of them, each a gentle maybe.

“Can I ask you one thing?” Isak says as Even laces their fingers together, kissing each of Isak’s knuckles as he does so. ”Did you call me baby earlier today? When we were running.”

“I don’t think so?”

“I’m pretty sure you did.”

“Did you like it?” Even asks, his thumb lightly tracing Isak's cheek.

“Yeah,” Isak whispers, closing his eyes. “I liked it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha, i just had to include Isak's pillow in this fic because i wouldn't be writing fic in this fandom if i hadn't made that tumblr post about Isak's pillows one fateful day, sorry about that! 
> 
> i can't believe i've already written some 14k in this weird foreign language! you've probably figured out by now that i really love foreshadowing, Eskild, grandmothers, and odd sexual banter, and i am going to continue down this road even if it kills me.
> 
> as always, you can find me on tumblr [@isaksbestpillow](https://isaksbestpillow.tumblr.com/).


	5. Swedish caviar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isak and Even take care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look, i am SO SORRY. i had to prepare dinner, and then all of a sudden two months had passed with no update. i did not mean for this to happen.
> 
> this chapter contains some sexual content because i felt like they deserved it after being stuck in limbo for two months. i can't write smut to save a life so it's not graphic, but it's there. this chapter also contains discussion of mental illness, but this fic is just a product of my mind, so my intention is not to speak for every experience and mental health journey ever.
> 
> the theme of the fic is healing, so i'm putting the hurt/comfort tag to use now!

“Mmmh,” Isak murmurs into the light spilling behind his closed eyelids as Even’s tongue slides across his cheek all the way up to his brow with the precision of a frog catching a fly, the weight of Even’s small round paws rubbing against his upper lip—

Paws.

Shit.

Abruptly woken from his haze, Isak rolls over to meet a pair of tiny teddy bear eyes staring at him expectantly.

“You two having a good make-out session over there?”

“Give us some privacy, Jesus,” Isak grumbles in faux annoyance as he buries his face in Frida’s sleek hair. It smells of dog shampoo and rain.

“I quite like watching you getting all cozy,” Even hums quietly, not seeming about to climb back into bed any moment soon. “Say, do you think cucumber slices go on top of or under the cheese?”

Isak sits up and sniffs the back of his hand, which he faintly remembers slipping into Even’s underwear before sleep washed over him. To his delight the scent of heated skin still lingers on him like an intoxicating Parisian cologne.

“Is this some kind of test? To determine if we’re compatible,” he asks with a cocked eyebrow, tilting his head and allowing his eyes to roam on Even’s upper body, studying him from the way his shoulders fill his t-shirt to the minuscule flexing of his wrist as his fingers curl loosely around the cheese slicer.

Even has long fingers.

Even’s skin is made of finest silk and glass and feathers.

Even smiles with his eyes.

Even tastes like sugar and smoke.

Even is bipolar.

Even is many things Isak is yet to find out.

Being near him is like being able to breathe under water.

And shouldn’t that be enough?

“Am I testing you? Maybe,” Even says playfully, giving a ridiculous wink that creases his whole face, and it might just be the most endearing sight Isak’s ever seen. Then he lowers his voice in mock seriousness and puts on a scowl. “I mean it is a pretty loaded question. Who knows how many failed marriages could have been prevented if only people had stopped to discuss their _pålegg_ preferences _before_ proceeding to take off their pants. Or—.”

“Or?”

“Or _maybe_ I just want to make you the best fucking _smørbrød_ you’ve ever had.”

“A few hours earlier you didn’t have single clean cup, and now you’ve turned into some Prince Smørbrød with caviar?” Isak laughs and furtively pinches the skin under his arm to make sure this isn’t some dream inside a dream Inception bullshit that’s going to leave him aching and yearning for days afterwards when he's back in his bed, in body, in his life.

A white mark appears in the crease of his elbow, and just as quickly as it came it fades away, taking with it the doubts.

Isak will make it be enough.

He will let it be enough.

Even shakes his head. “Not caviar, no,” he says, licking his lips as Isak hops onto the kitchen counter in front of him.

“No?” Isak repeats, wiggling his feet.

“But what I do have is some snus. Did you know they call it Swedish caviar in English? I heard IKEA’s trying to get the rights to sell it in America.”

“You may want to fact check your sources buddy,” Isak grins before hooking his legs around Even’s waist to pull him closer. He is already growing hard in his boxers – Even’s boxers –, and no amount of smørbrød is going to satisfy this hunger, not until he’s had his mouth on every inch of Even.

“Yes sir,” Even mumbles with a wiggle of his brows and reaches for his phone in one dramatic motion, but Isak is quicker, swiftly swatting away Even’s hand before leaning in to whisper into his ear.

“But not when I’m about to kiss you.”

“Sorry,” Even lets out a soft chuckle against Isak’s lips, and then his tongue is in Isak’s mouth, slow and languorous at first, licking at the back of Isak’s teeth like a hook that keeps pulling him closer and closer before turning violent and wild, making Isak want to taste blood, taste Even, taste everything.

“You taste like Swedish caviar,” Isak lets out a delirious laugh, trying to catch his breath before diving in for another kiss. His body is spinning out of control, lighter than gravity, and he must grip the edge of the counter with both hands to keep himself from floating off into space like a helium balloon.

“What’s it gonna be?” Even asks, dragging his tongue along Isak’s throat while his fingers dip under the waistband of Isak’s boxers, each flick of tongue sending a thousand shivers down Isak’s spine.

“What do you mean?”

Even yanks Isak’s boxers down with an impish grin.

“The pålegg,” he says, planting a line of sloppy kisses along the v of Isak’s groin.

“I’ll take—,” Isak pants, heavy-lidded. “I’ll take whatever the fuck you’re willing to give me.”

“Everything,” Even whispers before his mouth closes around the tip of Isak’s cock.

*

Sweaty and naked and sated, Isak slumps down onto the cold kitchen floor to lie down beside Even. The drum of Even’s heartbeat reverberates in his palm like a second pulse as he places his hand on top of Even’s chest still heaving from the aftershocks of release.

“I can’t believe you came onto the cucumber slices,” he snorts, nuzzling his nose against Even’s. “Although that does kinda settle the whole pålegg debate.”

Even nuzzles back, the corners of his eyes crinkling like tinfoil. His hand comes to rest on top of Isak’s, giving it a light squeeze.

“Okay, okay, I admit I should practice my aim more. I’ve gotten a bit rusty.”

Isak rolls onto his stomach and plops himself up on his elbows to peer into Even’s face, admiring the wetness glimmering on his lashes, the pink smeared across his cheeks. _He_ did that. He’s quite proud of his achievement, the way Even’s skin is still hot and pliant and flushed under his touch. If only the boys could see him now.

“I can help you practice,” he says, his face hovering over Even close enough for his spilling curls to tickle Even’s forehead. “Or you could just, like, come into my mouth.”

“Now?” Even looks at him in disbelief.

“Why not? I’m horny, and we’re gonna have to clean up anyway.”

Even laughs, carding his hand through Isak’s hair.

“I’m not quite as young as you are, it’s gonna take a minute for me to get it up again.”

“So tell me then, Mr. Bech Næsheim, were you an active member of the blowjob scene when you were young and sweet, only seventeen?”

“Interesting that you would ask, Mr. Valtersen. I had a girlfriend for most of my youthful days.”

“Really?”

“You sound surprised?”

“Uh huh,” Isak shakes his head before letting his arms go limp again. “I mean I had a girlfriend once for a month of two. Sara. She taught me two things. One, how to French braid. And two, that I’m gay beyond any reasonable doubt. Only one of those lessons has proved useful so far, though.”

Even slides his arm under Isak’s head, smiling into his hair.

“I had a proper girlfriend once, Sonja. She was my first love.”

“Oh.”

“We were together for four years. I was a boy when we got together and an adult when we broke up, so there’s a lot that I learned from her, with her– Not how to French braid, though. She had short hair. Shorter than you, actually,” Even says and gives Isak’s hair a rough ruffle.

“Let me guess, she gave you your first blowjob?”

“You never cease to amaze me.”

“You do know I’m studying evolutionary biology. Just trying to familiarize myself with the evolution of specimen Even Bech Næsheim here.”

“Well you are not mistaken, she did give me my first blowjob,” Even chuckles. “Among other firsts. She’s actually the reason I got my first dog.”

“Frida?”

“Yeah. But it’s a long story, and I don’t want to bore you with it.”

“Listen old man, I’m literally waiting for you to get it up again so we can fuck. Give me your long and winding story,” Isak says, then gently kisses the back of Even’s ear lobe. “Or any part you’re willing to give me.”

Even studies his face for a moment, smooths Isak’s hair back out of his eyes as though making sure he is able to not only hear but _see_.

“I was diagnosed in high school,” Even begins, eyes shifting to the left but then turning back to focus on Isak like they were waiting for permission to carry on.

Isak only rubs his jaw against Even’s bicep in response, but it seems to be enough, Even’s body relaxing under him.

“Before my diagnosis, I did some shit while manic and ended up in a pretty fucked up situation – maybe I’ll tell you about it later – because nobody knew what the fuck was wrong with me. Eventually I crashed, and when I woke up— When I woke up, everything was fucked, and I was—," he swallows a breath, eyelids fluttering. "I was nothing. My relationship with Sonja went to shit because I didn’t want to be bipolar and I felt like she wouldn’t allow me to be anything but. I felt like I had become my disease. I dropped out of school because I was tired and had no future. Sonja was getting hysterical because she feared I wouldn’t make it out alive if she wasn’t there. I think she was trying to live for the both of us, but we were both becoming so tired, so tired of all the bullshit that kept coming between us. Then as her last resort she suggested that I get a dog. Her reasoning was that even if I couldn’t hold on for her sake or for mine, maybe I could do it for a dog that’s completely dependent on me. She hoped it would ground me. She couldn’t take care of me, but maybe I could heal by taking care of someone else. A few months after getting Frida, we broke up for good.”

“Did it help? Getting a dog?”

“It didn’t cure my bipolar,” Even says, and Isak nods with his head resting against Even’s bicep. “But it did change some things. Frida doesn’t know I’m bipolar, you know. I never realized how desperately I needed that when I was still coming to terms with my diagnosis. She never wanted to discuss my medication or my sleeping schedule or look for possible symptoms. She was just happy to cuddle.”

“I’m glad you had her then. I’m glad you have her now,” Isak says, but the words don’t capture even half it what he feels. “I’m glad you’re here, now.”

He’s never been more glad of anything in his fucking life.

Even smiles affectionally, curling a strand of Isak’s hair around his index finger.

“I’m glad you’re here now, too,” he says softly. “And I’m grateful for having her. Sonja was right, I can see it now. Frida didn’t cure me, but she’s helping me heal. I’ve learned to manage my illness over the years, and I’ve had time to process it all, but I still have good days and bad days. Yet I still have to get up and feed her every morning, good days and bad days. While Sonja did teach me a lot of things, I think the most important lesson came from my dog.”

“What is it?” Isak asks, voice barely a whisper.

Even circles his arm around Isak’s head, rubs his nose against his forehead almost as if to breathe him in, lips caressing Isak’s cheek like he was dear to him as they move.

“A chance to take care is a chance to heal.”

*

 

 

 

> ESKILD: I hope your lazy ass didn’t miss the double rainbow blessing our gay skies this morning
> 
>   
>  ESKILD: Isak???
> 
>   
>  ESKILD: ISAK
> 
>   
>  ESKILD: where are you??
> 
>   
>  ESKILD: and the dog??
> 
>   
>  ESKILD: all your shoes are here what’s going on
> 
>   
>  ESKILD: are you hiding??
> 
>   
>  ESKILD: ISAK
> 
>   
>  ESKILD: WE ARE FREAKING OUT
> 
>   
>  ESKILD: linn thinks you have been kidnapped by aliens
> 
>   
>  ESKILD: have you been kidnapped by aliens??
> 
>   
>  ESKILD: oh my god was it those double rainbows
> 
>   
>  ESKILD: ANSWER ME
> 
>   
>  ESKILD: HELLO
> 
>   
>  ESKILD: EARTH CALLING ISAK
> 
>   
>  ISAK: sorry
> 
>   
>  ESKILD: about fucking time, I nearly sprained my ankle from worry
> 
>   
>  ISAK: sorry I forgot to check my phone
> 
>   
>  ISAK: I spent the night
> 
>   
>  ESKILD: dick so bomb you can’t even bother to dispel the rumors of your death?
> 
>   
>  ESKILD: I hope you’re using condoms
> 
>   
>  ESKILD: I assume you heard Kevin gave Maria gonorrhea on Paradise Hotel?
> 
>   
>  ISAK: chill guru
> 
>   
>  ISAK: we’re taking care

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading, i really don't deserve you when i can't even stick to a schedule. your comments and kudos mean more to me than you'll ever know, and i cherish them all so thank you.
> 
> in the next chapter you'll finally get more than scraps of isak's backstory. i'm sorry it took me this long to update, i'll be better next time. in the meantime, please take care of each other, and come and find me on tumblr [@isaksbestpillow](https://isaksbestpillow.tumblr.com/) if you're bored.


	6. Moonlike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isak listens to his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello ystävät! i struggled with this chapter A LOT and feel like the worst writer on this website now, so i'm just going to drop this 4.5k mess at 4 am and hope for the best. i wrote large chunks of this while listening to [andante festivo by sibelius](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7VRw9N9OlPo) so there's that.

Isak didn’t want to go home.

The night was chilly like it always was in the early days of spring, but the alcohol in his blood burnt like a fever. He was half-kneeling on the sidewalk, chest heaving, slobber drying on his mouth, trying to focus his eyes on the pair of shoes under his nose so that the world would stop spinning.

A stranger’s hand was firm on his shoulder.

“Can you hear me? How many fingers?” the stranger asked. His voice was concerned but not condescending.

“I can’t go home.”

“Are you alone? Where are your friends?”

“Can you tell your other head to stop—“, Isak groaned just as a loud hiccup escaped from his throat, “—moving.”

“Do you remember what you’ve taken?”

“Drugs and heroin,” he snorted at his own joke, his head lolling back. Everything was a fucking joke, and it was hilarious.

The stranger only gave a small sigh, but when Isak squeezed his eyes hard enough to meld the three heads hovering before him into one entity, he could tell the look on the stranger’s face was not amused.

Isak drew out a breath and sniffed. His mouth was dry like dead leaves, and the taste of his own vomit lingered all over his tongue. “I stole my dad’s whiskey,” he confessed, gaping at the sky so that the stranger wouldn’t see the weakness in his eyes. The sky above was smudgy and out of reach.

“I see.”

“But it’s not stealing if he’s not…if he’s not…"

If he was not going to notice it, ever.

“Do your parents know that you like to loiter outside London Pub?”

Isak jerked away from the stranger’s hold as though he’d been threatened with a knife.

“Don’t make me go there,” he pleaded. “It’s so _fucked_ —”

“Hey, all right, it seems you’ve had a bit of a rough day today, what was your name again—”

“Isak,” Isak whimpered between hiccups.

The stranger nodded and took out his phone. “Isak, look, you can crash at mine tonight, but you have to be able to walk on your own two feet to do that. Do you think you can stand? Good. Okay, I’m gonna get us a cab, but promise me you won’t throw up or you’ll be scrubbing the toilet for next five years. Can you promise me that?”

Isak nodded weakly.

It didn’t take long for the cab to arrive. Or maybe it did, Isak wasn’t entirely sure because his consciousness kept leaving and entering his body.

He had never ridden on a cab before, and the irony of the realization caused a slight tremble of laughter to run through his tired body as he rested his cheek against the coolness of the window. There was some condensation on the glass, which made people outside blur into the night. Some were kissing, some were rushing toward a tram, coats fluttering like sails. Some were meeting each other half way, some had their arms around each other.

There was a blurry world of lights outside, a world where dreams belonged to people and people belonged to each other.

Isak shut his eyes.

*

The stranger’s room was the gayest room Isak had ever seen: pictures of pop stars on the wall, a small rainbow flag, a framed photo of a drag queen, and a vase of tulips on the dressing table. Isak couldn’t tell whether the queasiness in his stomach was because of the alcohol.

The stranger disappeared into the kitchen, then returned with a plastic cup and a Coke bottle filled to the brim with tap water. “You’re going to regret the day you were born tomorrow if you fall asleep before you’ve drank this, trust me,” he said, pouring water into the cup. “I call it Eskild’s Nightcap.”

Isak accepted the cup with an awkward nod, then guzzled the water in loud gulps before pouring himself another cup. This seemed to please the stranger, judging from the way his gaze eased and returned from Isak’s shaky hands to his face.

The stranger placed a hand on his chest in turn. “I am Eskild,” he chirped, “your fairy godfather and the benevolent patriarch of this house, if you will.”

Isak looked away. The light hurt his eyes, and he wanted to sleep for an eternity.

Eskild drew a pensive breath. “Would you like know what I like to do when I’m sad?” he asked, turning on his laptop. “Just between you and me.”

Isak didn’t respond. He couldn’t see himself be particularly interested in Eskild’s coping mechanisms on a good day, least of all today. Frankly, he was quite certain Eskild would never be able to understand or even notice the pain he was going through. He chirped and he smirked and practically all but radiated gayness, fuck, he even owned a _wig_ — what could such a person possibly know about sadness?

“I take that as a yes,” Eskild said, pursing his lips in a small victory when Isak didn’t have the energy to protest. He was like a superball, always bouncing back. 

"When I’m sad, I like to watch royal weddings,” Eskild continued. “Have you seen their hats? Those bluebloods, they can wear anything on their heads— a Kakadu, a dick, doesn’t matter, the show must go on as the Queen herself once said, I seem to recall… Now let’s see, we have our very own Haakon and Mette-Marit, Victoria and Daniel, Madeleine and Mr. Banker, Diana and—well maybe not that one, that one’s a bit of a bummer…,” he chattered, and Isak hid the sudden smile tugging at the corner of his mouth in his palm, instead forcing out a burp that could probably have been measured on the Richter scale.

Eskild clicked his tongue. “Have some manners, boy. And sit down, for heaven’s sake, we are not in a boy choir,” he fussed, only calming down after Isak had awkwardly positioned himself on the edge of the bed. “Excellent. Okay, which one would you like to watch? Speak.”

Isak shrugged, not removing his hand from where it was covering his mouth, quiet hiccups spilling out into the room rhythmically like Facebook notifications.

Eskild placed the laptop down, and folded his hands in his lap. “Tell me, Isak. Do you believe in happy endings?”

“I don’t know,” Isak mumbled against his palm.

A smile spread across Eskild’s face. “You don’t know?” he repeated the words, as though trying to savor their taste. His eyes were bright and twinkling like Cinderella’s gown. “Go wash your hands, because you’re about to find out. _Heja Vickan och Daniel; heja kärlek_!”

*

Isak looks over his shoulder, eyes scanning the park, then lowers his voice.

“First promise me you won’t tell anyone.”

Jonas looks at him as though he’d just insulted the entire Vasquez family line. “Dude, how long do you think I’ve known you?”

“Sorry,” Isak gives an apologetic smile. “I just don’t want, like, I don’t know, Magnus to know, ‘cause then he’ll tell Vilde, and she’ll tell, I don’t know, fucking…fucking— _Donald Trump_ ,” he is all but gabbling now, his hands moving animatedly.

Jonas laughs. He looks quite handsome in the glorious August twilight, his profile sharp against the bleary hues of the darkening.

Isak shudders at the sheer ridiculousness of the observation.

What’s gotten into him lately? He’s been finding beauty in everything and anything: Eskild’s gerberas, the gross teenage couple sucking on each other’s faces on the tram, sunrises and sunsets, Jonas’s side profile… Is there an illness that makes the insides of one’s brain turn into fluff? Isak makes a mental note to ask Sana about it— for a friend, of course, seeing as he doesn’t want Sana to get any wrong ideas about having the more superior brain now.

“I won’t tell homeboy you’ve got a third nipple, gotcha,” Jonas nods.

“Jealous because I get double the pleasure?”

“Are third nipples really sensitive?”

“I don’t know. Ask Sana, she’s the doctor.”

“You know she’d just tell me to google it.”

Isak laughs, then clears his throat. “The thing that I don’t want you to tell anyone—I’ve been having this thing. Maybe. Kind of.”

“A thing?”

“You know,” he says, nibbling on his bottom lip. Suddenly he finds himself kind of regretting passing on the link _A Beginner’s Guide to Telepathy_ Vilde had shared on Facebook the other day. “Sex,” he coughs into his hand, “With a guy.”

“You’ve _maybe kind of_ had sex?”

“No no no, I’ve _definitely_ had sex,” Isak hurries to clarify, and if he can’t help a small smirk creeping onto his lips, who can blame him. He’s had sex, all right. In the past couple of weeks or so he’s had more sex than in all the months before.

And the thing is, it’s been _good_ , better than good, really, the kind which makes words that are heavy and baneful nearly spill out like grains of sugar out of a paper bag.

Words like forever and never that have no place in people’s mouths.

Jonas has an impressed look on his face. “Sweeeet,” he says in an almost Magnus-esque intonation.

“Is it?” Isak runs a hand through his hair.

“I don’t know, what do you want me to say? ‘My condolences on the dick’?”

Isak snorts. “I don’t even know,” he says, an old, comfortable quiet settling between them as their gazes drift to Lykke nudging at a beetle with her nose. Isak briefly wonders if she realizes she’s not a beetle, and if the knowledge would stop her from trying to befriend it.

The bubblegum Jonas has been chewing on emits a loud pop, and as if on cue the beetle spreads its wings and takes off.

“So what’s the deal between you two?”

“I don’t know,” Isak shrugs. “We’ve never talked about it. He did mention once how he didn’t want this to be a one-time thing, but I don’t know if by _this_ he meant just the sex, and he hasn’t brought it up since.”

It’s not that Isak wouldn’t like to be more like Eva, ride on the wave of maybe. He thinks he is even trying. But it’s scary to leave shallow water when you can’t swim, and so in a way Isak is almost grateful to Even for not mentioning any of it again. When you start to mention things, give them names and meanings, that’s when they start to slip away. What doesn’t begin has no ending.

Jonas spits out his gum into a crumpled tissue. “Maybe you should bring it up then? Take the bull by the horns,” he suggests, ever the voice of reason, before letting out a chuckle. “I mean you seem to have already taken it by the balls, am I right?”

“Oh yeah, why don’t I just ring him up and ask him to marry me on the spot, thanks for your input,” Isak sneers.

Jonas gives him an incredulous look. “Come on man, you’ve had boyfriends before.”

Isak has to fight the urge to cross his arms. “Yeah, but I wasn’t _into_ them.”

Which sounds like the kind of thing the biggest asshole in school might say, Isak realizes as much, but to his defense he hadn’t been _not into_ them, either. If anything, he’d been indifferent, content with nothing to gain and therefore with nothing to lose. So when Jarle had asked him to be his boyfriend via text, he had sent back an ok, like agreeing on plans for tomorrow. His stomach hadn’t sunk in regret, but it hadn’t fluttered in anticipation either. An ok as ordinary as a fishcake. It had been all he felt.

Jonas hums, his mouth quirking into a knowing smile.  

“You like this guy then?”

“How should I know?” Isak snarls almost defensively.

“Don’t act so offended all the time! Maybe if you stopped bitching for a minute and listened to your heart.”

“ _Listen to your heart_? Should I perhaps also listen to my pancreas and my asshole? _Listen to your heart_? What kind of shit advice is that?”

“If it twitches more than your dick, chances are you like this… what’s his name?”

“Even,” Isak says, and his heart twitches at the sound.

*

“What did you think of the movie?” Even whispers into the crook of Isak’s neck as they’re lying in bed, lazily stroking each other to the closing credits of Moulin Rouge.

Isak crinkles his nose. “It was okay.”

Even lets loose of Isak’s cock with a loud gasp, eyes widening in mock shock.

“Are you calling Moulin Rouge an _okay_ movie? Where are your manners!”

“In my pants,” Isak rubs himself against Even’s thigh, taunting.

“Shouldn’t have gotten you naked before watching the movie, then.”

“Everybody died, and there was _so much_ singing.”

Even straddles Isak, pinning his arms above his head, and Isak has to bite his tongue to keep himself from giggling like an utter fool.

“You can’t tell an epic love story without singing! Or do you think the Titanic would’ve had the same impact if Celine Dion’s heart hadn’t gone on and on, hmm?”

Isak looks up though his lashes, fully aware of how smug the smirk on his face must be.

“I thought it was just people wanting to fuck young Leonardo DiCaprio.”

“You clearly underestimate the power of Celine Dion’s heart going on and on.”

“I’d fuck him.”

“Young or old?”

“Young. I mean I’m already fucking the older version.”

“I’m not that old, you take that back!”

“You so loved being compared to him, don’t even try.”

“Okay, I wouldn’t mind it if he played me in a movie, let’s put it like that.”

“But doesn’t he only play the sleazy guys nowadays?”

“You’re saying I shouldn’t get him to play me in my upcoming Hollywood biopic _Even Bech Næsheim and the Curse of the Golden Dick_?”

“You should get the young Leo to play you. The older one could play me.”

“Oh, so you’re the sleazy guy now?”

Isak’s smile fades.

“I just think that if I were a movie character, I’d be one of the bad guys.”

“What makes you think that?” Even asks, the playfulness in his voice turning into concern. His eyes are glowing with kindness, and their light makes something inside of Isak hurt.

“I think I might be a bad person.”

“You’re not a bad person,” Even says softly, his voice so gentle and convincing now that it almost makes Isak want to believe him, only he can’t, instead shakes his head and mutters, “You don’t know that yet.”

Even holds his gaze as he places his hand over Isak’s bare chest. “Maybe so, but I can feel it here.”

Isak flinches.

There is a long pause, a careful consideration of words.

“Have you seen the Lion King?”

“At least ten times.”

“I never saw it as a kid,” Isak says. “My mom thought the animals could talk because they had been possessed by Satan.”

Isak glances at the dogs lying on top of each other on the floor out of the corner of his eye. They look blissful. His throat feels itchy.

“My mom’s schizophrenic. I haven’t been to see her in over a year. Don’t you think that’s fucked up?”

Even will think it’s fucked up. He has pictures of his family on the wall. His normal, supportive family who go to Kaffebrenneriet on a Tuesday and probably hug each other good bye. Of course he’ll think it fucked up that Isak won’t go see his mentally ill mother because he can’t bear the weight of being the only person responsible for her.

“I don’t think it’s fucked up.”

A pause.

“I remember one day coming home from school with Jonas and some of his friends from the skatepark.”

The image is vivid like it were yesterday, or worse, like it were today: the thick November fog wrapped around the naked trees like larval web; the smooth material of the new coat he’d bought on his father’s credit card; the wheels of Jonas’s skateboard echoing in the quiet of the suburbia.

It’s like Isak were still there.

Then Even runs a gentle thumb over Isak’s eyelid, and the image breaks.

“I wouldn’t normally have invited anyone over because I didn’t want to announce my whole family situation,” he says. “Jonas was the only person who knew. But my dad had promised to take mom to see a play that afternoon, and I was only gonna grab my skateboard, so I thought it’d be safe to have them tag along that one time. It was kinda cool to get to pretend like I was normal and not the gay kid with the absent dad and the mom who was convinced a satanic demon was out to kill her.”

“I wish we didn’t have that word,” Even says. Sadness clouds his eyes.

“Which word?”

“Normal.”

An ambulance passes by the open window.

“Mom wasn’t at the play. She was on the porch exorcising demons,” Isak gives out a strained laugh, the confused cackles of Jonas’s friends still ringing raw in his ears. “I had never been so embarrassed in my whole life, so humiliated in front of all these people that I hardly even knew.”

Even is quiet, but his hands never stop stroking Isak’s sides, and his gaze never leaves Isak’s face.

“Do you want to know what I said to them?” Isak asks quietly. “I said,” he inhales sharply, flinching at the words he is about to speak, “I said, ‘don’t go near her, she’s the fucking crazy lady from next door’. I couldn’t—” Isak averts his eyes and swallows around the lump in his throat, “I couldn’t admit that she was _my mom_. I don’t know if anyone believed me. Jonas told them to leave and then helped me get her inside. I tried calling my dad three times.”

Even’s hand stills, but his breathing is warm against Isak’s forehead. Isak is quiet for a while, playing the chatter of his dad’s voice mail in his mind over and over. Then he rolls onto his back. “He was at work.”

Even’s hand has moved onto Isak’s stomach now, arm wrapping around him like a seatbelt.

“Things only got worse after that. My dad left not long after. He came back a couple of times, but it never lasted.”

It never lasts with him, Isak thinks. He’s shown as much, time and time again. The only thing of any permanence is his constant ability to disappoint.

“You were left to look after your mom alone?”

Isak nods, shoulders tensing.

“Mom stopped showering and cleaning up after herself after a while. I’d wash her hair sometimes, and she’d cry, and then she’d lash out at me for being a horrible son and treating her like she was sick, and then I’d lock myself in the bathroom and wish that when I’d open the door, she’d be gone. I started thinking that it’d be easier having no mom than having her as a mom.”

Shame colors Isak’s cheeks. Even shifts closer, the sheets rustling under his long limbs.

“Then one day she was gone.”

“Gone?”

Isak nods, recalling the day he’d come home from school to find his mother’s wallet and keys on the table, but she’d been nowhere to be found, only shadows of the early evening emerging from their hideouts like ghosts. Gone, just like Isak had wanted. He’d looked around for her frantically, asked all their neighbors, felt their glances of pity and curiosity on his back.

“I thought she’d died,” he whispers. “The police found her on the third day after she’d gone missing. They said she was psychotic and a danger to herself and others. That she had to be put into a facility.”

Isak’s hands are clammy, and his body feels oddly heavy and light at the same time, defying all laws of gravity.

He’s never shown this part of himself to anyone before. While his family issues aren’t exactly a secret among his friends — Jonas, Eva, and Eskild have all been there to pick him up, sometimes even literally —, none of them knows this part, the ugly seed in his belly.

Isak wonders how many more minutes he has left before Even will eventually break the silence that has fallen between them and ask him to leave.

Even looks deep in thought. A shadow moves behind his gaze. Isak thinks it makes him look wise.

“Is that why you think you’re a bad person?” he finally asks, tracing the lines on Isak’s face with his finger. “Because to me you are the bravest person I’ve ever known, and I’ve known plenty.”

 _Oh_.

“Remember when I told you about Sonja?”

Isak nods. He remembers every word Even’s ever said.

“You’re not responsible for your mother, Isak. Your actions didn’t cause her to get sick, and your actions can’t cure her, either.” A faint smile appears on Even’s lips. “You just don’t hold that kind of power.”

 _Oh_.

“What if she hates me?”

Isak hadn’t meant for the question to come out, but it’s too late now, his darkest fear creeping like a spider in the quiet of the small studio apartment on the top floor of a 5-story building.

“You’ve done nothing to be sorry for. Or do you think that I should hate Sonja?”

Isak shakes his head, his eyes wide. He’d never thought if that way.

He’d never thought of it that way at all.

“If seeing your mom is painful to you, you don’t have to see her if you’re not ready. It’s okay to protect yourself.”

Then, as if having read Isak’s thoughts, Even plants a soft kiss on his forehead and says, “And if you miss your mom, that is okay, too.”

Isak’s eyelids flutter.

He had never thought of it that way at all.

*

Isak’s heartbeat seriously needs to calm down.

He checks the time on his phone for the third time in a minute, then clutches the phone at his chest and takes a deep breath.

It’s just a door, he reminds himself as he curls his fingers and prepares to knock.

Knock.

Knock.

Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea after all.

It had felt like an okay idea yesterday in Even’s arms. Granted, most ideas feel okay when expressed in Even’s arms. It’s what makes his embrace such a dangerous place to be.  

Maybe she’s not at home.

Maybe he should leave.

Maybe he shouldn’t have—

The door opens then. The face greeting him is older than he remembers it, but her smile is the same he knows from childhood.

“Isak,” she says.

Isak takes a step back, then a step forward.

“Hi, Mom.”

*

“Would you like a Ballerina cookie?” Marianne asks. The package in her hands is unopened, as though it had been waiting for this day. “Raspberry flavor. They used to be your favorite. You’d eat the filling and wear the top of the cookie around your finger like a ring.”

“You remember that?”

Marianne smiles. “I am your mother.”

Isak doesn’t know what to say. Somehow _so, what’ve you’ve been up to these past couple of years_ just doesn’t cut it.

In the absence of words, he studies the cookie. It’s imperfect, a sliver of the vanilla filling peeking from under the lustrous raspberry coating.

It reminds him of a lunar eclipse.

He carefully takes off the top layer. There is a meticulous rhythm to it, a technique to ensure that the cookie doesn’t crumble or break in half. When it’s done, he tentatively licks at the center.

The taste hasn’t changed at all.

Isak sniffles.

“Good?” Marianne asks.

Isak nods. It’s good. The cookie.

It’s good.

Marianne smiles again. “That’s good,” she says.

They both look out the window. The sun is lower in the sky than it was a few short weeks ago.

“It’s a bit chilly today, isn’t it?” Marianne says.

“Maybe a little bit,” Isak agrees.

Marianne stirs her tea.

“Fall is just around the corner.” There is a pause, then a huff of breath. “Do you remember the maple tree at the old house?”

Isak lets out a small yet fond laugh. “The one dad threatened to cut down every year because of the ‘damn leaves’?”

Of course he remembers it.

He still sees it in his dreams, sometimes.

“Your father was never much of a gardener.”

Isak snorts. “Tell me about it.”

Marianne cocks her head. “I believe I just did.”

Isak feels a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

So he lets it.

“Good thing he was too busy to cut it down,” he says.

Marianne hums in response. “The tree is going to be beautiful again soon.”

Isak nods. A wistful hand tugs at his heart.

So he lets it.

“I quite look forward to seeing the moon this fall,” Marianne says.

“The moon?”

It’s Marianne’s turn to nod. “I read a book once,” she says. “It said that Japanese poetry prefers the moon over the stars.”

“It does?” Isak can’t claim to be familiar with Japanese poetry. Or any poetry, for that matter, unless one counts the cringe-inducing verses that sometimes clog his head when he has Even panting in his hands.

“The moon never remains the same. It’s constantly waxing or waning. That’s the beauty of it.”

_Yet every shape is the moon._

Isak looks at her in awe. Marianne gets up and makers her way to toward the cupboard again.

“Before I forget, I have a present for you,” she says. “Happy 20th birthday, Isak.”

It’s a wooden picture frame with no picture.

“I made it in an art therapy class. There is a picture in the envelope, you can open it later. I didn’t know if you’d maybe rather frame some other picture.”

“Thanks,” Isak says. The weight of the frame feels precious in his hands.

He swallows and lifts his gaze.

“Mom?”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“What for?” Marianne smiles. “You are here now.”

He is here now. Relief blooms in his heart like a song.

“Can I take the cookies with me?”

“Of course. I bought them for you.”

*

Back in his room, Isak opens the envelope from his mother, fingers trembling.

He lets out a smothered laugh. It’s a picture of him no more than a few minutes old, wrinkling his nose on his mother’s chest. Her face is drenched in sweat, but her eyes are sated and bright.

On the backside of the photo there is a hand-written message.

_Dear Isak,_

_20 years ago you were born into this world, and now you have grown into a fine young man. I wish I could take at least some of the credit for that, but it is all you. Whatever you do, please know that you are the only person I love but I am not the only person who loves you. Happy birthday, my brave son._

_Mom_

Isak frames the picture.

The moon over Oslo shines bright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i googled that raspberry singoalla cookies are sold under the name ballerina hallon in norway (i'm from finland and they're also known as ballerina cookies here), but i'm sorry if i got that wrong and they're not a thing! in that case let's just agree that marianne does her grocery shopping in sweden.
> 
> canon didn't give me much to work with in terms of how to portray marianne valtersen, so i'm a bit nervous but i hope my take on her was ok.
> 
> i'm about to wrap this fic up! next chapter will be the last one with dialogue, chapter 8 is going to be a little bit different. in the words of a 90s poet, c u when ~~u~~ i get there!


	7. Chances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry for my disappearance, i had a bit of a situation but hey, new year, new me, new chapter. this one is quite short because i decided to split it in half to give the final scene a separate chapter. if you're still there, thank you!

Isak can’t remember the lyrics.

Fuck.

They make it seem so easy in the movies.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.

He should’ve thought this over. The Boy Who Didn’t Think Things Over, that could be the name of his autobiography. Or more like his obituary, because that’s where this is heading. At least he got to kiss Even hello one more time before his tragic death.

He’s been standing in the doorway like a complete fool for at least a minute now.

“Aren’t you coming in?”

Isak takes a deep breath. “Wait.”

It’s better to do this here in the open. This way he can make a smooth exit if everything goes wrong. Failing and then having to put your shoes back on would be too humiliating.

“Okay,” Even says, raising his eyebrows ever so slightly.

“Okay,” Isak snorts.

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

Isak coughs into his hand. Once, then twice, then three times for good measure. Then he begins to hum, snapping his fingers to the tune.

“Hmm hmm something something, honey I’m still free, take a chance on me, hmm hng gonna be around,” it’s all going horribly wrong, he’s out of tune and staring at the wall and when he dares to glance at Even Even’s eyes are alight with what Isak thinks is laughter, “if you’ve got no place to go, if you’re feeling down, hmmm some shit about birds, bless the rains down in Africa, hnngg, take a chance on me.”

Isak’s fingers stop snapping. He takes a step back. It becomes horribly quiet save for a door slamming shut and a set of footsteps echoing downstairs.

“You sang my song,” Even says then, tilting his head, studying Isak’s face with gleeful eyes.

Isak chuckles in embarrassment, the adrenaline tingling in his veins making his skin hot and prickly. “More like tried to,” he mumbles and scratches the back of his head.

Even grabs hold of one of the drawstrings on Isak’s hoodie and begins to toy with it. “I thought you were against singing.”

“I was.”

“What changed?”

“Some cheesy fucker once said you can’t tell an epic love story without singing.”

“Was he from Nazareth? Long hair, sandals?” Even asks, his grin only growing wider as Isak gives him an exasperated nudge.

“Shut up when I’m trying to ask you something.”

Even let’s go of the drawstring, his expression growing serious. “You can ask me anything, I hope you know that.”

The thing is, Isak does know that. It’s part of the reason he wants to ask this question in the first place; the ease of it all that settles in his body whenever Even is around. Whatever it – this – is, it’s simple yet bone-deep.

“Look, maybe I’m reading this all wrong… But I like you—”

“I like you, too.”

“No, I mean I _really_ like you—”

“I really like you, too.”

“Would you please stop interrupting me when I’m trying to ask you to be my boyfriend!”

“I’m sorry, I won’t interrupt you again.”

“What was I even talking about?”

“Something about boyfriends.”

“I was supposed to woo you like they do in your movies.”

“Don’t worry,” Even says. “I’ll make a movie about you. The Boy Who Couldn’t Woo His Boyfriend,” and before Isak can do anything to retaliate Even is tugging him by the strings of his hoodie. “Now come on in, I can’t have my boyfriend stand outside on an empty stomach. What would the neighbors think?”

Isak steps into Even’s space and puts his arms around him. “After my concert? Probably that I deserved it.”

*

The light flickers in the bathroom.

Even spits in the sink right after Isak, rinses his toothbrush and places it in a cup next to Isak’s. Then he wipes his face with a towel and nods at the light. “You should change that.”

“Me?” Isak asks incredulously.

“The heterosexual community has told me that changing the light bulb is the man’s job, and since you’re my man now… Or are you afraid of changing the light bulb?”

“I’ll have you know _you_ ’re _my_ man now,” Isak says with feigned insult in his voice.

“I may have a solution to this,” Even murmurs close to Isak’s ear, slipping a hand inside Isak’s boxers and just holding it there without touching anything.

Isak’s spine tingles as if an ant marching band was racing up and down it. “Oh, have you now?” he manages to say.

“Whoever comes first changes the light bulb.”

“That’s unfair.”

“You come, you lose, fair and square.”

Isak grabs a hold of Even’s wrist. “It’s unfair because I’ve heard that older people may have a hard time maintaining an erection.”

Even gives Isak’s dick a playful squeeze. “Oh, I’m gonna show you a hard time in your pants.”

“Too bad I’m not wearing any,” Isak says as his boxers drop onto the floor.

*

“We should keep doing this,” Even says as he throws a wet towel at Isak.

“You mean fucking in the bathroom?”

“Sure, if that’s your thing. But I meant it more broadly. You know, boyfriend sex.”

“Isn’t all sex boyfriend sex now?”

“That’s my point.”

“So we really are boyfriends now, huh?”

“I mean I’d hope so, I’m not the kind of guy that’ll let just anyone touch my light bulb.”

“I’m not changing the light bulb! You cheated! I didn’t know you could do _that_ , you’d never done it to me before!”

Even pushes back Isak’s hair to plant a kiss on his forehead. “We’re learning all sorts of things about each other today. Admit it, babe. You lost.”

“Fine, but I want you to do something for me, too. I want you to take my picture.”

“You mean nudes?”

“No! Or I don’t know, maybe, I mean if you’re up for it, but I’ve been— I’ve been thinking of getting a passport.”

Even smiles widely. “Sure.”

“And there’s this other thing… I’ve mentioned Eva, right? The owner of Lykke who’s coming back home next week and having this party thrown for her.”

“I think I’ve seen her once. Back when I first saw you.”

Isak narrows his eyes. “But I was alone when we first met?”

“That’s not when I first saw you,” Even says with a chuckle.

“It’s not?”

Even shakes his head. “I was coming out of a pretty bad depressive episode last February,” he says, focusing his gaze on Isak’s. “I went to the dog park, and there was this guy there ranting about something to this girl with a terrier, and then suddenly in mid-rant this guy slipped and split his pants, but then he just quickly got back up on his feet carried on with his rant.”

“Oh Jesus.” Isak buries his face in his hands. “You saw me split my pants after getting dumped? That was your first impression of me?”

Even runs a finger across Isak’s knuckles. “It was the first time in a while that I felt something.”

“Embarrassment on my behalf?”

“I wouldn’t call it that,” Even says and smiles.

They’re quiet for a while, gazing into each other’s eyes and smiling fondly in place of words.

It’s Isak that finally breaks the silence.

“Would you like to come to Eva’s party with me?”

“As your date?”

“As my boyfriend, stupid.” Isak puts his arms around Even, kisses his neck and whispers, “I’ll teach you how to make a lasting first impression.”

 


	8. Borrowed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the final chapter! more rambling at the end.

 

 

> _ja unet joita kukaan ei milloinkaan uneksinut toteutuvat, aina, ja tässä, luulisin, on ennustamisen koko vaikeus_
> 
> _and dreams that no one ever dreamt come true, always, and here, I reckon, lies the difficulty of prediction_
> 
> \- Arto Melleri 

 

 

The grass feels cool against Isak’s palms. August twilight falls through the trees with swarms of small insects dancing in the dazzling sunrays. Summer is not gone yet, but it is going, its gentle hand stroking shoulders and roofs like an old friend as it goes.

As Isak adjusts his position, his hand grazes the stem of a dandelion. He picks the flower and spins it between his fingertips before blowing off the fluff. They float in the air like—

“—like moldy sperm,” Even says, then throws a rubber bone for Lykke and Frida to fetch.

“That is the most disgusting metaphor I’ve ever heard.”

Even rests his chin on Isak’s shoulder. “Not all art is beautiful, babe,” he pouts, his nostrils quivering as Isak tickles his nose with the head of the dandelion.

Isak runs the dandelion across Even’s face as though carefully connecting the dots from his hairline all the way to his chin, then taps Even’s mouth with it before replacing it with his own. The kiss is chaste and brief, yet Isak can’t help smiling into it. “Your face is art,” he teases fondly as their lips separate.

Even grins back, bumping their shoulders together. “Speaking of faces, are you excited for tomorrow?” he asks and swings the rubber bone into the air. “To see Eva and all your other friends.”

“Yeah,” Isak nods, his gaze following the bone as it flies in a clean straight line before dropping with a loud thud. “I mean I should be, right?”

Even puts his hands on his knees and sways back and forth. “Well, I am a mere dentist so don’t quote me on this, but I don’t think not looking forward to a party is a criminal offence under the Norwegian penalty code.”

“What a relief, doctor,” Isak croons before dropping back into his normal voice. “I’m just—,” he stops then, looking for the right word, “ _— sad_ , I guess.”

A sudden gust of wind makes the hairs on his exposed arms stand, so he starts absentmindedly rubbing them for warmth.

“I’d gotten so used to having Lykke around. I always knew I was only borrowing her, yet part of me doesn’t want to let her go. Isn’t that pathetic?”

“Isn’t that how all parents feel?”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious though,” Even reaches into his pocket and pulls out a can of snus. “The way I see it, we’re all here just borrowing each other.”

Isak holds out his hand for a pouch of snus. “Can I still borrow you? After tomorrow.”

Even closes the lid and slips the can back into his pocket. Then he turns to look at Isak and smiles. “We’ll borrow each other.”

  
*

 

“Did you make a wish? When you blew that dandelion.”

“I got distracted by your moldy sperm.”

Even carefully picks the last remaining dandelion and holds it up Isak’s face. “Here, make one now.”

“Shouldn’t that be yours to make?”

“I’ll let you borrow mine.”

“You sure?”

“Borrow each other, remember?”

Isak takes a deep breath and blows.

The dandelion scatters like an explosion of tiny parachutes.

Some of them land on the dogs, clinging onto their fur.

Some of them are aiming straight for Even’s eyelashes.

Some of them travel far.

Even laughs.

The night has warm hands.

Isak wishes for—

 

 

 

Nothing.

Being surprised is better.

 

*  
  


Isak gesticulates like a constipated tour guide. “Uhh, so, guys, uhhh, Eskild, this is, uhh, Even, my, uhhhh, boyfriend, uhh, Even, this is, ahem, Eskild, my roommate.” Luckily Vilde’s sangria is starting to kick in, and Isak is eternally grateful for it.

“Eskild, the light of this party,” Eskild chirps, offering his hand. “Such a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Even shakes Eskild’s hand with enthusiasm. “Ah, the brotherly figure. I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Only fabulous things, I’m sure,” Eskild smirks and pinches Isak’s cheeks. “The fruit of my loins.”

Isak smacks Eskild’s hand off with a growl. “I’ve only said regular stuff.”

“All those nights I’ve spent in my bed worrying for this poor sweet boy. Always in his room looking at furry porn, it’s been so hard for me as his only slightly older, only the tiniest bit balding, sexy roommate to witness it. I’m sorry if this comes as a shock—”

Even laughs. “It’s pretty hard for Isak to shock me, I promise.”

“—I just when I had lost all hope for him, truly a wonderful day, come on you two love birds, give me a hug, let me feel the love,” Eskild holds out his arms and squeezes them in a hug.

Isak feels Even trembling with laughter next to him. Eventually Eskild loosens his hold, but before letting go of them he murmurs in Isak’s ear.

“I’m proud of you, Cruella.”  
  


*  
  


“Boys, uhh, meet my boyfriend Even, Even, this is Magnus, Jonas, and Mahdi."

Mahdi is the first to shake Even’s hand. “Cool to meet you, man.”

“Hey, bro,” Magnus says, his eyes scanning Even from head to toe as if trying to recognize him from somewhere.

Jonas nods at Even’s shirt. “Wu-Tang Clan? Already digging this guy.”

Isak takes a sip of his beer, a smile tugging at his lips. It’s going better than he expected. He can hardly trust these guys not to embarrass him or themselves on most days, but so far everyone has been on their best behavior.

The sangria is making his body light as a feather. He leans against Even’s chest, Even’s arm coming to wrap around his waist to pull him closer. He feels—

“Oh my god!” Magnus puts his hands to his cheeks, his mouth falling wide open. “It’s Isak’s dream guy! You’re Isak’s dream guy!”

“I am?”

Isak shoots Magnus a glare of death. Only Magnus can’t take the hint, remaining unnecessarily persistent on embarrassing Isak in front of his crush like a teenage boner.

“When Isak—”

Mahdi lets out a laugh and pats Magnus on the back. “Dude, you’re high as a kite.”

Magnus starts feeling his face as though making sure it’s still there. “I am?”

Everyone laughs. Even’s laughter tickles Isak’s earlobe. He scratches it, then shakes his head.

Magnus is wrong.

Even isn’t Isak’s dream guy.

He never dared to dream a dream like this.  
  


*  
  


“May I borrow your boyfriend for a bit?” Eskild squeezes between Isak and Even on the sofa, putting a possessive arm around Even’s shoulders and placing a glass of wine onto the sofa table. “I promise I’ll be gentle.”

Isak rolls his eyes, trading glances with Even.

“I hear you’re a photographer.”

“I work at a photo studio.”

“You see, I have a bit of an artistic inquiry.”

“Wedding photos, graduation photos, passport photos, those are my forte.”

“What about nudes?”

Isak nearly spits his beer, but Eskild ignores him.

“I would like a professional opinion on my nude gallery.”

“What is the purpose of these nudes of yours, if I may ask?”

“Getting dick, mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“One hundred percent.”

Even grins. “Maybe I can help you there.”

Isak is about to protest when a pair of hands cover his eyes from behind.

“Guess who!”

“Judging from the sweaty palms…

“I do not have sweaty palms, take that back!” Eva slaps the back of Isak’s head.

“Smelly palms.”

“Shut up and come and grab a beer with me,” Eva snaps, lifting Isak by the armpits.

Isak gives Even a questioning look. Even smiles and squeezes his hand. “Go, I’ll be here reviewing your roommate’s dick pics.”

Isak whines, but Eva is already dragging him toward the kitchen.

 

*  
  


“He’s hot, your boyfriend,” Eva says.

Isak grins. “I’ve noticed.”

“It’s sayonara Luca, then?”

“You can give his number to Eskild.”

“Babe, I got his number from Eskild.”

“You were trying to set me up with Eskild’s old fuck?”

“Maybe,” Eva giggles. “Or maybe I was trying to set you up with someone else.”

“You were trying to set me up with Eskild’s old fuck and that’s the truth.”

“I heard you met at the dog park.”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe it all went according to my master plan.”

“You’re so full of shit.”

“I take that as a thank you.”

“Which it wasn’t.”

Eva rolls her eyes and picks Lykke up. “So how was it?” she asks as she lets the dog practically devour her face with her tongue. “Giving a little bit of love.”

Isak offers Lykke the back of his hand and watches her lick a sticky stripe across it. It should be gross, but whatever. Eskild’s and Even’s laughter carries over the Britney song blasting in the other room. Isak wipes his hand on his jeans and leans against the wall, smiling.

“Easiest thing I’ve ever done.”

 

 *

 

_Dear Little Sister_

_Congratulations on being born. I heard you were so excited to see the world you couldn’t even wait until the hospital. I don’t blame you, there are many wondrous things here to see and to feel._

_Like today when I saw an iridescent cloud over Oslo. My boyfriend said it must be a message from you. Don’t worry, I gave him a proper lecture on iridescence and diffraction, but something that he said made me write this letter to you._

_How are things in the future? Do we all wear a chip now? Is Paradise Hotel still on tv? (Please tell me it isn’t.)_

_I don’t really have any smart lessons to teach you._

_I guess what I want to say is…_

_Good luck._

_\- Isak_

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it is done! wow! thank you so much for all the comments and all the kudos and for forgiving my disastrous updating schedule, i don't think i could've ever finished this without you. i wrote this fic for myself because there are big changes happening in my life and i wanted to remind myself of things, but if in the process even one other person has gotten something out of this fic, then i am extremely glad. i know it wasn't the longest or the most exciting fic, but i've enjoyed sharing this experience with you. i didn't have a beta, so mistakes are all mine. i will go and make a tumblr post for this fic now. as always, you can find me [@isaksbestpillow](https://isaksbestpillow.tumblr.com/). kiitos!


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